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JHeto^ 2Dr. ^illtt'^ ^wH 



SILENT TIMES. 

MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. 

THE EVERY DAY OF LIFE. 

THE BUILDING OF CHARACTER. 

THINGS TO LIVE FOR. 

THE STORY OF A BUSY LIFE. 

PERSONAL FRIENDSHIPS OF JESUS. 

THE JOY OF SERVICE. 

STRENGTH AND BEAUTY. 

DR. MILLER'S YEAR BOOK. 

GLIMPSES THROUGH LIFE'S WINDOWS. 

THE GOLDEN GATE OF PRAYER. 

THE HIDDEN LIFE. 

YOUNG PEOPLE'S PROBLEMS. 

THE MINISTRY OF COMFORT. 

COME YE APART. 

THE UPPER CURRENTS. 



25ooMet^ 



GIRLS; FAULTS AND IDEALS. 

YOUNG MEN; FAULTS AND IDEALS. 

SECRETS OF HAPPY HOME LIFE. 

THE BLESSING OF CHEERFULNESS. 

A GENTLE HEART. 

BY THE STILL WATERS. 

THE MARRIAGE ALTAR. 

THE SECRET OF GLADNESS. 

UNTO THE HILLS. 

LOVING MY NEIGHBOUR. 

HOW? WHEN? WHERE? 

SUMMER GATHERING. 

THE TRANSFIGURED LIFE. 

IN PERFECT PEACE. 

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 



Betn porli 



toper Currents 



BY 

J. E. MILLEE, D.D. 

AUTHOR OF ''SILENT TIMES," ** BUILDING OF 
CHARACTER," ''BESIDE THE STILL WATERS," ETC. 



''A man's reach should exceed his grasp 
Or what is Heaven for ? " 

— Browning 



5 J J -> 

^ i J J J J J 



) J J J J J 



l^eto iorfe 

THOMAS Y. CKOWELL & CO. 
PUBLISHERS 






THE LI8RARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cop'ft* Recsiveo 

OCT, Q igm 

CnpVRW5MT PNT«»V 



^. 



0L,Aft8 CI- XX(\ No. 



COPY 8. 



» • <f k. • I <- 



- or : 



Copyright, 1902, by T. Y. Crowell Sf Co. 



Published, October, 1902 



v^ PREFACE 

A tended to incite to braver^ stronger^ truer living. 

j^ We live well only when down here on earthly 

^, levels we catch the breath of heaven and are 

^ impelled toward things that are worth while, 

^ To be moved only by the lower earthly currents 

is to miss all that is best in life. 

J. R. M. 

Philadelphia^ U. S, A, 



TITLES OF CHAPTERS 



I. Catching the Upper Currents Page 3 

II. In the Beginning God 15 

III. When Prayer is not the Duty 29 

IV. God's Slow Making of Us 41 
V. Transfiguration 55 

VI. Keeping One's Life in Tune 67 

VII. Putting Away Things Past 79 

VIII. The Ripening of Character 91 

IX. Steps in the Stair 103 

X. Getting Help from People 117 

XI. This, too, Shaix Pass Away 127 

XII. Choosing to do Hard Things 141 

XIII. GrriNG What We Have 153 

XIV. The Ministry of Kd^dness 165 
XV. The Ministry of Encouragement 177 

XVI. The Word that was not Said 189 

XVII. Things that Last 201 

XVIII. Is Self-Denial a Mistake ? 213 

XIX. The Christian as a Garden-Maker 223 

XX. The Virtue of Dependableness 235 

XXI. The Art of Living with People 247 

XXII. He Maketh Me to Lie Down 257 



Catci^tng ti^e apper €mnnt0 



[ 1 ] 



Up^ my drowsing eyes ! 

Up^ my sinking heart ! 
Up to Jesus Christ arise ! 

Claim your part 
In all raptures of the skies ! 

Yet a little while^ 

Yet a little way^ 
Saints shall reap and rest and smile 

All the day : 
Up ! let's trudge another mile ! 

— Christina Rossetti 



I2J 



CHAPTER FIRST 




ARTH always needs heaven. 
Without sunshine and rain 
no plant will live or grow. 
Human lives need God ; 
not to get his blessing is to 
shrivel and perish. It is in- 
deed the love of God that this poor old world 
needs. Yet, though this love breathes every- 
where, there are those who miss it, who get 
none of it into their lives, and then wonder why 
they are not happy. 

** It is love that thou lackest, thou poor old world. 
Who shall make thy love hot for thee, frozen old 

world f 
Thou art not happy as thou mightest he, 
For the love of dear Jesus is little in thee. " 

Doctor Peabody, in one of his inspiring talks 
to the students at Harvard, draws a picture of 
a vessel lying becalmed in a glassy sea. There 
is not a breath of air to fill a sail. While the 

[3] 



Ci^e ^vptv €unmt^ 



men wait and watch, however, they notice that 
all at once the little pennant far up on the mast- 
head begins to stir and lift. There is not a ripple 
on the water, nor the faintest moving of the air 
on the deck ; but when they see the pennant 
stirring they know that there is a wind rising 
in the higher air, and they quickly spread their 
upper sails to catch it. Instantly the vessel be- 
gins to move under the power of the higher cur- 
rents, while on the surface of the water there is 
still a dead calm. 

In life there are lower and higher currents. Too 
many set only the lower sails and catch only 
the winds which blow along on earthly levels. 
But there also are winds which blow down from 
the mountains of God. It would be an unspeak- 
able gain to us all if our lives fell more under the 
influence of these upper currents. We would be 
wise if we so adjusted our relations with others 
that all our days we should be under the sway 
of the good, the worthy, the pure-hearted, the 
heavenly. 

Then as their friends we should seek ever to 
bring into the lives of others only the highest, 

[4] 



the most uplifting and inspiring, the most 
wholesome and enriching influences. We should 
aim always so to live Christ that the Christ in 
us shall become the very breath of God to every 
one whose life we touch. If we do not we are 
living below our possibilities in the character 
and reach of our influence. There are many ways 
of helping others. We can bring them bread if 
they are hungry, garments to wear and fuel for 
their fire if they are cold, money to pay their 
debts if they are in need, or medicines and 
care if they are sick. We can brighten a dull 
horn' for them by our presence if they are lonely, 
and warm their hearts by our compassion if 
they are sori'owing. But there are better ways 
of helping. George Macdonald says, " If, in- 
stead of a gem, or even a flower, we should 
cast the gift of a lovely thought into the heart 
of a friend, that would be giving as the angels 
give.'' There are ft-iendships in which this kind 
of love is given by one to the other. Great 
thoughts, sweet, inspiring, cheering thoughts, 
have been put into the heart to bless, enrich, 
and transform the life. 

[5] 



ci^e apper €uumt^ 



It was such a friendship as this of which Charles 
Kingsley spoke when, in giving the secret of his 
own richhfe, he said, "I had a friend.'' If that 
friend had ministered to him only in lower and 
earthly ways, he would never have been lifted 
up into the sublime reaches of character which 
he attained. But she was not content to please 
him in the light and trivial ways which are the 
only charm of too many friendships. She was 
not satisfied to walk with him as his companion 
in the dusty paths of earthly toil and care. She 
brought into his life lovely thoughts, visions of 
radiant character, glimpses of lofty heights, 
and incited him continually toward whatsoever 
things are true, whatsoever things are pure, 
whatsoever things are lovely. 
That is the kind of friend we should seek to 
have and to be. No other conception of friend- 
ship's ministry is worthy of an immortal life. 
Yet are there many friendships which realize 
this lofty ideal ? Are there many who seek the 
higher, better things either for their friends or 
themselves ? Are there many whose life is the 
very wind of heaven blowing upon all who come 

[6] 



within the circle of their influence ? Yet noth- 
ing else is really worthy in a friend. He who 
comes to us in this sacred relation should 
always bring a breath of heaven's life down to 
us. He should touch our life on its spiritual 
side. There are influences enough to call out 
the earthly side of our nature. The world'^s fas- 
cinations play about us continually. Our eyes 
see only material things, and, therefore, mate- 
rial things make strong appeal to our taste, 
our feeling, our desire. Many of the friends, 
too, who come into our lives minister to us only 
along earthly levels. 

Two young people sit together for an evening, 
and not a word is said by either which starts in 
the other a thought above the range of the 
material. The conversation runs on in neighbor- 
hood gossip, trivial personalities, criticisms of 
people, compliments, bits of playful humor, but 
with not one serious word in it all. In marriage 
two lives are united and move on together, per- 
haps in ideal fashion, blending in love, in inter- 
est, in fellowship, in care, in self-denial, in 
sorrow. Each exerts over the other a strong, 

[ 7 ] 



Ci^e oppet €ntvmt^ 



transforming influence. They give much pleas- 
ure the one to the other in all love'^s tender and 
helpful ways. But too often there is a whole 
great section of each life which is never entered 
nor touched by the other. As it were, these 
two are dwelling in a house with lower and 
upper stories. In the lower apartments is found 
all that belongs to the physical and earthly life. 
In the upper apartments are the higher things, 
things of the mind, of the spirit. But our friends 
always stay downstairs and never go up into the 
rooms where thought and reason and hope and 
faith hold their court. It is a pity that friend- 
ship and love should miss so much, for it is only 
in the upper ranges that the things which are 
worth while are found. 

At the Beautiful Gate of the temple a beggar 
sat one day, asking alms of those who entered 
the sacred place. Peter and John were passing 
in and the poor man reached out his hand, 
hoping to receive a little money. Peter said to 
him, however, " Silver and gold have I none ; 
but what I have that give I thee.**^ Then he 
bade the man arise, and, giving him his hand, 

[ 8 ] 



helped him to get up. Peter was a far better 
friend to this man than if he had given him a 
coin. This would only have provided for a few 
hours more of the poor life he was now living, 
leaving him still in the same condition as before. 
Peter brought healing down into the man's 
crippled body and restored him again to 
strength. He need not beg of others any more, 
for now that he was healed he was able to earn 
his own bread. 

The best and truest help we can give to others 
is not mere present gratification, but strength, 
courage, and cheer, that they may rise into 
nobler, worthier life, and go on continually 
with new energy and hope. It may be easier, 
when you find one in need through his own 
indolence, to give him money to supply his 
wants, than to help him into a position in which 
he will learn to earn his own bread. It may be 
easier, but after you have provided for his ne- 
cessities for a time, short or long, you leave him 
just where you found him, in poverty, with no 
more power than before to care for himself. 
But if you have ignored his plea for alms and, 

19 I 



Ci^e Oppet Curtentjs 



instead, have taught him to work, and inspired 
him to do it, you have hfted him above the 
need of asking charity and have set his feet in 
the path toward manhood. 
It may be easier to walk along low levels with 
your friend, adapting yourself to his trivial 
ways of thought and conversation, not trying 
to lift him up to anything better. But in so 
doing you are not true to him. Try to lead his 
steps upward, toward the i-ugged hills, whence 
he shall get wider visions. Tempt him with the 
sweets of nobler life and seek to woo him to 
enter with you into its enjoyment. It takes tact 
and patience to get one who has never learned 
to read good books, to begin to read such books, 
but it is worth while to do it at whatever cost. 
It is not easy to teach one used only to a life 
of earthly commonplaces to care for things 
that are unseen and eternal, but in no other 
way can we do others such real, enduring good 
as by seeking to lift them. 
That is the kind of friendship Christ shows to 
us. He came from heaven, down into earth'^s 
lowest places, to exalt us to worthy life and 

[ 10 ] 



Catcj^tng tl^e dipper Currentjs 

eternal blessedness. We begin to be Christlike 
fi'iends to others only when we do for them 
what Christ has done and is ever doing for us. 

** Where'er a noble deed is wrought ; 
Where'er is spoken a noble thought ; 
Our hearts, in glad surprise, 
To higher levels rise, 

** The tidal wave of deeper souls 
Into our inmost being rolls, 
And lifts us unawares 
Out of all meaner cares. 

^^ Honor to those whose words or deeds 
Thus help us in our daily needs 
And by their overflow 
Raise us from what is low.'^ 



[" 1 



<( 



3|n tl^e Beginning (I5oD '* 



[ 13] 



My bark is wafted to the strand 

By breath divine ; 
And on the helm there rests a hand 

Other than mine. 

One who has known in storms to sail 

I have on board ; 
Above the raging of the gale 

I hear my Lord. 

Safe to the land — safe to the land., 

The end is this ; 
And then with him go hand in ham>d 

Far into bliss. 

— Dean Alford. 



[ 14 ] 



f( 



CHAPTER SECOND 

91n ti^e OBegfnning <I5oD" 




O life can be complete, how- 
ever much of beauty it may 
have in it, which leaves out 
God. No path can be a 
safe one, however sheltered 
it may seem, in which God 
is not leading us. We never can find our way 
home unless we are guided from heaven. We 
should make sure that, whatever other friends 
we have, we have Jesus Christ. 
The first words in the Bible very strikingly tell 
us the place that God should have in every life 
— " In the beginning God.'''* It is no wresting 
of the Scriptures to take these words, apart 
from their connection, as presenting the sub- 
limest truth in all the range of thinking. 
They carry us back into the eternal past, be- 
fore there was aught else but God. " Before 
the mountains were brought forth, or ever 
thou hadst formed the earth and the world, 

[ 15 ] 



Ci^e ^pptv €uvvmt^ 



even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art 
God." 

This is the meaning of the words as they stand 
thus picturesquely at the beginning of the Bible. 
But there is also a fitness in considering the 
words in another sense. Not only was God 
before all things and the Author of all crea- 
tion, but he should be given a place at the 
beginning of everything. "In the beginning 
God " should be the watchword of all hfe. We 
belong to God and should recognize his owner- 
ship by voluntarily giving ourselves to him. 
This is the initial act of every true consecra- 
tion. When we have done this God stands at 
the beginning of everything for us. We en- 
throne him in our heart, giving him our su- 
preme affection. We look to him as Lord, 
waiting at every step for his command. We 
trust him as our Father, turning with every 
want to him. Thus in all our personal life 
God is first, if we are living in true relations 
to him. 

Then there are special applications. The 
words should be written over the gateway of 

[ 16] 



every new day — "In the beginning God."" 
God's face should be the first we see in the 
morning when we open oui* eyes. His voice 
should be the first we hear with its benediction 
of love and grace. He should be the first to 
whom we speak, lifting up our hearts in praise 
and in supplication for guidance and blessing. 
Henry Vaughan's quaint lines put well the 
lesson : 

When first thy eyes tmveil, give thy soul leave 

To do the like ; our bodies hut forerun 
Tlte spirit' s duty. True hearts spread and heave 
Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun. 
Give him thy first thoughts then ; so shalt thou 

keep 
Him company all day^ and in him sleep. 

Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should 

Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours 
'Twixt heaven, and us. The manna teas not good 
After sunrising ; far day sullies fiowers. 
Rise to preveiit the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
And heaven's gate opens, when this world's is 
shut. 

Walk with thy fellow -creatures : note the hush 
And whisperings among them. Not a spring 
[17] 



Cl^e iSXpptx €unmt^ 



Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush 
And oak doth know I AM, Canst thou not singf 
Oh, leave thy cares and follies ! go this way 
And thou art sure to prosper all the day, 

A day with God truly at its beginning cannot 
but be a prosperous day. It may not be easy. 
It may not be cloudless. Its burdens may be 
heavy. Its tasks may be hard. It may have 
its crosses, its sorrows, its tears. But nothing 
can go really wrong with our life if we have 
truly put it into God's hands in the morning. 
Yet there are people who never pray. They 
rise from their bed in the morning, after enjoy- 
ing a nighfs protection, and after receiving 
blessings from God in sleep, and never say a 
word nor have an emotion of gratitude. They 
go out into a new day, with its wilderness of 
unrevealed experiences, not knowing what they 
are to meet, through what dangers they must 
pass, and yet never whisper a prayer for guid- 
ance, for help, for blessing. How can anyone 
who thus begins his day expect all things to go 
well with him ? A prayerless day is a day of 
peril. One writes : 

[ 18] 



'' %n tl^e -Beginning m^ " 

The sunlight streaming o'er my temple gate 
With rays beguiling, soft, and fair y 

Made me at dawn neglect until too late 
To har it with the wonted prayer. 

Two fair 'dad robbers, Duty and Belighty 
Won entrance and engaged my mind, 

While dark, unnoticed, and in rags bedight. 
Worry and Folly crept behind. 

To-night there's ruin in my Holy Place, 
Its vessels gone^ its treasures spent — 

Contentment, faith, and every hard-won grace 
Displaced and spoiled. Lord, I repent, 

A prayerless day never can be anything but a 
day of loss and failure. It may not seem so. 
Business may be prosperous as ever. The table 
may be bountifully spread. God " maketh his 
sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth 
rain on the just and the unjust.*" But how- 
ever happy a day may seem to be, if it lacks 
heaven'^s benediction it is a sad day. 
One writes, " We need to lift our eyes each 
morning to the perfect standard, and to test 
our lives each night by the divine character. 
And when this shows us forthwith our own 
crookedness and selfishness, and convicts us of 

[ 19] 



Ci^e dipper €unmt^ 



evil, we need to ask humbly for daily pardon. 
What sensitive Christian could bear to go 
twenty-four hours unforgiven ? So also, amid 
the tumult and dazzle of the busy world, we 
need to drink in daily quietness from the foun- 
tain of the peace of God. Under the strain of 
our daily temptations we are driven back on 
Christ^s unseen grace and strength. Thus 
every fresh trial and worry and failure be- 
comes to the Christian a fresh summons which 
calls him to prayer." 

If we would have our days bright and beautiful 
and full of peace, we need only to start at 
God's feet and to keep him first in our life 
through all the day to its close. We have it 
in one of the Psalms — " I have set Jehovah 
always before me : because he is at my right 
hand, I shall not be moved.**" 

'* Begin each morning with a talk to God 
And ask for your divine inheritance 
Of usefulness, contentment, and success. 
Resign all fear, all doubt, and all despair. 
The stars doubt not^ and they are undismayed, 
Though whirled through space for countless 
centuries 

I 20 ] 



And told not why or wherefore ; and the sea 
With everlasting ebb and flow obeys 
And leaves the piii^pose with the Unseen Cause. 
The star sheds radiance on a million worlds. 
The sea is prodigal with waves ; and yet 
No lustre from the star is lost, and not 
One drop is missing from the ocean's tides, 
O brother to the star and sea, know all 
God's opulence is held in trust for those 
Who wait serenely while they work infaitJi.^^ 

The words are peculiarly fitting also for a 
birthday motto, or for the opening of a new 
year. We cannot see into the year\s life, to 
know what it may hold for us, but we need 
not care to know. Faith is better than sight. 
Walking with God in the dark is safer than 
walking alone in the light. There is some- 
thing very suggestive in the way the Chris- 
tian world designates the years, Anno Domini, 
"In the year of our Lord." The birth of 
Jesus Christ introduced a new era. Time be- 
fore that is not counted — the only years that 
it is worth while to record are the years since 
Christ came. We should strive, therefore, to 
make each year indeed a year of our Lord. 

[ 21 ] 



Ci^e Clpper Currentjs 



We can do this by giving Christ his true place 
at the beginning and then by having him in 
all our life throughout the year. 
But the mere writing of the legend, "In the 
year of our Lord,^"* on our letter sheets and at 
the head of our business papers, will not itself 
consecrate the year. A man bought an illu- 
minated scroll, neatly framed, and brought it 
home. On it were the words, " God Bless Our 
Home.''' It was hung up in the dining-room 
and was an ornament to the room. But some- 
how it did not seem to bring the blessing. 
The home continued to be full of wrangling 
and strife and all manner of ill nature. There 
was no more love after the scroll was hung up 
than before. An illuminated motto will not 
sweeten a home nor bring good into it. 
Neither will the writing of Anno Domini — 
" In the year of our Lord *'*' — over a year make 
it beautiful, or cast any glory upon it. We 
make it truly a year of the Lord only by giv- 
ing Christ the first place in all its life. 
He must be first in our business. This means 
that we must conduct the business as his, not 

[ 22 ] 



as our own. We must do it according to the 
principles of righteousness and truth which he 
has laid down, making every transaction as 
holy as a prayer or a sacrament. 
He must be first, also, in our personal life. 
It is possible to carry on a business honestly, 
on principles ethically Christian, and yet not 
to have God in the place which belongs to 
him. He wants our life first, before our business. 
" Not yours, but you,"" is the claim he makes. 
" In the beginning God,**** as our motto for a 
new year, means God enthroned in our heart 
and filling all our life. 

St. Paul expressed the truth when he said, 
**To me to live is Christ.^*' He held up the 
same ideal also when he exhorted, " Whatso- 
ever ye do, ih word or in deed, do all in the 
name of the Lord Jesus.^' We need to look 
to our own personal life, that there God may 
always be first. Then there will be no failure 
in the things we do. If we love God su- 
premely we may do what we will. 
In all the details of our plans, dreams, aspira- 
tions, and hopes this should be the motto — 

[ 23 ] 



Ci^e ^pptt €unmt^ 



" In the beginning God.''^ No friendship 
should be formed unless it have the divine 
approval and unless God be its cementing 
bond. No ambition should be cherished un- 
less the honor of God be its goal. No new 
work should be undertaken unless in it God 
has the first place. There is a promise that if 
we acknowledge him in all our ways he will 
direct our paths. If only we give God his 
place at the beginning of everything, all our 
life will be blessed. 

One of Frances Ridley HavergaPs poems tells 
us of an Aeolian harp which a friend sent with 
a letter describing the wonderf^j|^weetness of 
its tones. Miss Havergal took the harp and 
thrummed its seven strings, but there were no 
thrilling strains, only common music. She 
read the letter again and found instructions 
which she had overlooked at first. Then she 
raised the window and put the harp under the 
sash. Now the wind swept over the strings 
and the room was filled with melodious strains 
which no fingers of man could have produced. 
Only when the breath of heaven blew upon 

[ 24 ] 



^'ftttl^e Beginning dBioti" 

the harp could its marvellous music be brought 
out. 

The human soul is such a harp. Human fin- 
gers call out much that is lovely and sweet, 
but it is only when its chords are swept by the 
breath of heaven, by the Holy Spirit, that its 
noblest music is called out. 



[ 25 



Wli^m ^ta^tx fjs not ti^e ?^utr 



[ 27 ] 



Bow thy head and pray^ 
That while thy brother starves to-day^ 
Thou may est not eat thy oread at ease : 
Pray that no health or wealth or peace 
May lull thy soul while the world lies 
Suffering^ and claims thy sacrifice ; 
Praise not^ while others weep^ that thou 
Hast never groaned with anguished brow ; 
Praise not thy sins have pardon founds 
While others sinJc^ in darkness drowned ; 
Canst thou give thanks^ while others nigh^ 
Outcast and lost^ curse Go^and die f 

— PfiisciLLA Leonard. 



[28 ] 



CHAPTER THIRD 

W\^m i^ratet iis not t^t ?^uti? 




HERE are many commands 
to pray. We are taught in 
everything to make our re- 
quests known to God. We 
are bidden to be instant in 
prayer, to cast our burden 
on the Lord. Yet prayer isnotallof a rehgious 
life. Committing our way unto the Lord, roll- 
ing it upon him, does not absolve us from duty. 
There are prayers of indolence and prayers of 
selfishness, and with neither of these prayers is 
God pleased. 

Prayer, then, is not always the duty of the 
hour. It would seem that once Moses was re- 
buked for continuing in prayer. It was when 
the Hebrews were shut in beside the Red Sea, 
with Pharaoh's army pressing behind them. 
" Wherefore criest thou unto me ? speak unto 
the children of Israel, that they go forward."" 
Clearly, duty for Moses that moment was not 

[ 29 ] 



Ci^e 2lpper €mtznt^ 



to stay on his knees, crying to God for deliver- 
ance and help. Rather it was to cease praying, 
to rise up and lead the people forward. We are 
commanded to wait for the Lord, but there is 
an over- waiting which loses the blessing. Faith 
is not all reclining trust; part of it always is 
action. To trust and do nothing will win no 
victories. We must rise from our praying and 
go forward. 

There are many common illustrations of this 
truth. Your neighbor is in some trouble. You 
hear of it, and, being a believer in prayer, you 
go to your place of devotion and plead that God 
would send him the help that is needed. Almost 
certainly, however, prayer is not the duty in 
this case. Rather it is to cease your supplica- 
tion and go quickly to your neighbor to do for 
him what he needs. If a fi-iend is taken suddenly 
very ill, or is injured in an accident, your duty 
is not to go to your closet and spend a season 
in prayer for him, but to hasten for a physician. 
A city missionary tells of an experience in 
London. He was hurrying on his rounds one 
bitter January day, when he heard cries of 

[30] 



I^i^en pta^n fjs not ti^t 5^utt 

little children in a house he was passing. He 
listened for a moment and knocked at the 
door, but no one answered his knocking. Then 
he opened the door and went in. He found 
himself in a miserable apartment, without fin:- 
niture, without fire. In one corner, on a pile of 
straw, lay a woman, dead, with two children 
clinging to her and crying piteously. 
At a moment's glance the missionary saw the 
sadness of the case, and, falling upon his knees, 
began to call upon God. He believed in prayer, 
and pleaded with intense earnestness that heaven 
would send help to these orphaned children in 
their great distress. So importunate did he be- 
come in his pleading that he spoke rashly, and 
said : " O God, send thine angel to care for 
these poor, motherless children. Send at once, 
or my faith this instant dies.''*' Immediately he 
seemed to hear, plainly and clearly, as if a 
divine voice were speaking to him, the words, 
" Thou art mine angel ; for this very purpose 
did I send thee here.''*' He saw now that he had 
no right to ask God to send any other messen- 
ger to minister to these needy little ones, that 

[ 31 ] 



Ci^e apper €nnmt^ 



prayer was but a waste of God's time, and pre- 
sumptuous. Taking the children by the hand, 
he quickly led them to a place of shelter, where 
they were cared for. 

Sometimes when we pray we draw a little nar- 
row circle about ourselves. We ask only for 
health, happiness, and comforts for our own 
lives, giving no thought to the world of suffer- 
ing, sorrow, and need outside. Such prayers do 
not rise to heaven as incense. There is a legend 
of one who prayed thus. 

* * But as he prayed, lo ! at his side 
Stood the thorn-crowned Chi^ist, and sighed : 
* O blind disciple — came I then 
To bless the selfishness of men f 
Thou asTceth health, amidst the cry 
Of human strain and agony ; 
Thou askest peace, while all around 
Trouble bows thousands to the ground : 
Thou askest life for thine and thee. 
While others die ; thou thankest me 
For gifts, for pardon, for success, 
For thine own narrow happiness,'' '' 

It is always right to pray for the advance- 
ment of Christ's kingdom, but if we only pray 

[ 32 ] 



W^m pvanv ijs not ti^t 5^utt 

and do nothing to set forward the cause for 
which we plead, our praying does not please 
God. We must be ready always to do with our 
own hand that which we ask God to do. When 
God desires to help, bless, deliver, or save a 
man he usually sends another man to do it. Or- 
dinarily, when God puts it into our hearts to 
desire to do good to some one, we are the mes- 
sengers he would send with the blessing. Our 
aspirations are first inspirations. We may pray 
God to give help, but we must be ready at once 
to rise and go ourselves with the help. 
Far more than we realize it does God wish us 
to answer our own prayers. If we have plenty, 
and hear of one who is hungry, our duty is not 
to pray for him, asking God to send him bread, 
or to incline some good man to supply his wants ; 
rather our duty is to hasten to share our plenty 
with him. It is little less than mockery to ask 
that help be sent from heaven or by some di- 
vine agency, to one in need, when we have in 
our own hands that which would meet and sup- 
ply the need. God gave us om- plenty that we 
might help our brother. 

[ 38] 



Ci^e SJppet Currents 



We can imagine the priest, as he passed the 
wounded man, lying by the wayside, almost 
certainly — since he was a devout man — offer- 
ing a prayer for him, asking God to help him. 
But his prayer availed not, for God had seen 
the man stricken down and had sent the priest 
that way, at that particular hour, for the very 
purpose of caring for him. Not prayer, then, 
but ministry, was the priesfs duty just then, 
and no most earnest praying would be accepted 
in place of the human help the man was in need 
of and the priest could have rendered. 
There is a great deal of such failure in duty, 
making prayer an easy substitute for service 
which would cost effort, or self-denial, or money, 
asking the Lord to do in some supernatural 
way, or through other helpers, the things which 
he has sent us expressly to do. Men beseech 
God to have pity upon certain people who are 
living in sin, to send them the gospel and to 
save them. God does not do what they ask, be- 
cause it is not thus that the blessings sought 
can be given. Indeed, he has already long had 
pity upon these very people. His heart has gone 

[34] 



W\^m pta^tt (0 not ti^e J^ut^ 

out to them in yearning love and compassion. 
More than that, the very persons who now 
pray so earnestly that he would show pity, 
God has sent to be his messengers of pity and 
mercy to these very lost ones, to tell them of 
Jesus Christ and to lead them to his cross. In- 
stead, however, of fulfilling their commission, 
doing what they have been sent to do, they 
pause before their tasks and indolently ask God 
to do their work for them. 
Good people come together in their church 
meetings and pray for the sick, the poor, the 
sorrowing, the fallen, the heathen, and then do 
nothing themselves to carry to a sad world the 
blessings which they so persistently implore 
God to send. No doubt the divine answer to 
many a pastor, as he leads his people in import- 
unate prayer for help and blessing for the 
needy or troubled, for the extension of the 
kingdom of Christ, for the saving of souls, is, 
" Wherefore criest thou unto me ? speak unto 
the people that they go forward." God is ready 
to do all that is asked of him, but he can do it 
only through his people's faith, and their faith 

[35] 



Ci^e Sippet €mtmt0 



can be shown only in going forth to try to do 
the things that need to be done. When we pray 
for the sick and the suffering we must go with 
our love and sympathy to do what we can for 
them. When we pray for the saving of the lost 
we must go straight to them to tell them of the 
love of Christ, or to find some way, at least, 
to get the message to them. 
Much praying for the blessing of the Holy 
Spirit is made powerless and unavailing by the 
same lack of faith and obedience. God is ever 
ready to give his Spirit, but such prayer always 
implies action. We have something to do if 
the blessing is to come. It was " as they went '^ 
that the ten lepers were cleansed. If they had 
not set out at once, in obedience to the com- 
mand of the Master, healing would not have 
come to them. It is thus, too, with the giving 
of all spiritual blessings — they come not 
through prayer alone, but through our rising 
up from our knees and going forward in the 
path of duty, in the way of obedience, in the 
effort to attain the thing longed for. When we 
have asked God to give us his Spirit, we are to 

[36 j 



W}^m pmnv 10 not ti^e W>ntv 

believe that we have the gift desired, and are 
to enter at once upon the Hfe which the Spirit 
would have us live. 

There is a duty of prayer, most sacred and 
holy, but prayer is by no means the only duty. 
The answer will never come while we stay on 
our knees, but only when we rise up and go 
forward. Dr. Babcock's little litany teaches us 
how to mingle prayer and doing : 

O Lord, I pray 
That f 07' this day 

I may not swerve 
By foot or hand 
From thy command, 

Not to he served, hut to serve. 

This too, I pray : 
That from this day 

No love of ease 
Nor pride prevent 
My good intent, 

Not to he pleased, hut to please. 

And if I may, 
Td have this day 

strength from ahove. 
To set my heart 
In heavenly art, 

Not to he loved, hut to love. 

[ 37 ] 



(0oD*0 ^lotD jHafefng of ax^ 



[39] 



One prayed in vain to paint the vision blest 
Which sho 7ie upoji his heart hy night and day^ 

For homely duties in his dwelling pressed^ 

And hungry hearts which would not turn away^ 
And cares which still his eager hands bade stay. 

The canvas never knew the pictured Face^ 
But year by year^ while yet the vision shone^ 

An angel near him^ wondering^ bent to trace 
On his own life the 3Iaster's image grown^ 
And unto men made known. 

— Mabel Earle. 



[ 40] 



CHAPTER FOURTH 

dPon'js ^lotD jEafemg of m 




OD does not make us all at 
once. The process is a long 
one, running through all 
the years of our life, how 
many soever these years may 
be. God begins making us 
when we are born into the world, and his work 
on us and in us goes on continuously unto the 
end of our days. There is never an hour when 
some new touch is not given to our life, some 
new line marked in our character. A thou- 
sand agencies and influences minister in the 
making of us — the mother, the father, the 
home, the school, the playground, the church, 
books, companions, friends and friendships, 
joys and sorrows, successes, failures, health, 
sickness, roses and briars — all life's circum- 
stances and events. These things all work 
upon us, yet not blindly, not without guidance. 
Always God is on the field, and he works in 

[ 41 ] 



ci^e appet €unmt^ 



and through all experiences, unless we drive 
him out of our life, so that really it is he who 
makes us. But there is no period in all the 
years when we can say that God has finished 
making us. We are always still in process of 
being made. 

In one of George Macdonald's books occurs 
this jfragment of conversation. " I wonder why 
God made me,**' said Mrs. Faber, bitterly. 
" I^m sure I don't know where was the use of 
making me.*" 

'^Perhaps not much yet,'' replied Dorothy; 
" but then he hasn't done with you yet. He 
is making you now, and you don't like it." 
It would give us more patience with ourselves 
if we always remembered this. We would not 
get so discouraged with our infirmities, imper- 
fections, and failures if we always kept in mind 
the fact that we are n^t yet made, that we are 
only in process of being made, that God is not 
yet through making us. It would often help 
us to understand better the reasons for the 
hard or painful experiences that come to us. 
God is at work on us, making us. If we yield 

[ 42 ] 



oiu'selves to his hand in quietness and confi- 
dence, letting him do what he will with us, all 
will be well. 

At present we are not what we should be, 
neither are we what we shall be. The end is 
not yet manifest — "It doth not yet appear 
what we shall be.**' It is a comfort to us, how- 
ever, to know that God has a design in all his 
work upon us. There is nothing accidental in 
any of the providences that come into our life. 
There is a Hand that is guiding and control- 
ling these providences, and there is a purpose 
running through all the events and circum- 
stances. This purpose may not be evident to 
us, but there is an eye that always watches the 
pattern. God is always making us and fashion- 
ing us, and his thought for us is beautiful and 
good. 

** ^Tis the Master who holds the mallet^ 
And day by day 
He is clipping whatever environs 

The form away ; 
Which, under his skilful cutting^ 
He means shall he 

[43] 



Ci^e Oppet €unznt^ 



Wrought silently out to 'beauty 

Of such degree 
Of fatiUless and full protection, 

That angel eyes 
JSJiall look on the finished labor 

With new surprise, 
That even his boundless patience 

Could grave his own 
Features upon such fractured 

And stubborn stone, 

* * ' Tis the Master who holds the chisel. 

He knows just where 
Its edge should be driven sharpest. 

To fashion there 
The semblance that he is carving ; 

JSfor will he let 
One delicate stroke too many. 

Or few, be set 
On forehead or cheek, where only 

He sees how all 
Is tending— and where the hardest 

The blow should fall-^ 
Which crumbles away whatever 

Superfluous line 
Would hinder his hand from making 

The work divine. ' ' 

If we were never to lose this consciousness out 
of our mind, it would help us to trust when 

f *4 ] 



dBioti'js ^lott) Pimm of m 

we cannot see. We do not need to know the 
reasons for the things in oui* hfe which seem 
strange, faith is beheving when we cannot see, 
trusting that God is good and acting toward 
us in love, even when all things seem to prove 
just the reverse. If we believe that God is gra- 
cious and loves us, and that he understands 
what he is doing, and has a wise design in it 
all, that should satisfy us as well as if we could 
find a thousand reasons of our own for what he 
is doing. Job puts his faith in confident w®rds 
in one of his answers — 

BeJiold, I go forioard, hut he is 7iot there ; 
And backward, hut I cannot perceive him : 

On the left hand, when he doth work, hnt I cannot 

hehold him : 
He hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot 

see him : 

But he knoweth the way that I take ; 

When he hath tried me^ I shall come forth as gold. 

The end cannot but be good — " I shall come 
forth as gold.*" Trial cannot harm any one 
whose life is hid with Christ in God. The great 

[ 45 J 



Ci^e Opper Currents 



problem of living is not to escape hard and 
painful experiences, but in such experiences to 
keep the heart gentle, loving, and sweet. We 
can do this only by resting confidently in God's 
love, without doubt or fear, however terrible 
the trial or suffering may be. 
We should never pass judgment upon unfinished 
work of any kind. An unripe apple is not fit to 
eat, but we should not therefore condemn it. 
It is not yet ready for eating, because God is 
not yet done making it. Its unripeness is the 
precise condition which belongs to it at its 
present stage. It is a phase of its career and is 
fitting and good in its place. A child's piano 
playing may be execrable to the delicate ear of 
a trained musician, and yet there was a time in 
the history of his own musical development 
when he played no better, and when his friends 
and his teachers complimented him on his 
encouraging progress, seeing even in his faulty 
execution the evidences of genius and the marks 
of improvement. We have no right to judge 
the work of a beginner in any art or kind of 
work; we should wait until he has finished 

[ 46] 



what he is doing before we pass an opinion on 
it. No artist will submit his picture for inspec- 
tion while in an incomplete state. Neither is it 
just or right for us to form opinions upon 
God's providences until they have been worked 
out to the end. 

We should apply this rule to all that God is 
doing in us and with us. We should never mis- 
take the processes nor the incomplete condition 
for the final result. God has not made us yet — 
he still has the work in hand, unfinished. Not 
much that is good, worthy, or beautiful may 
yet have come to perfection in us. We continue 
to make innumerable mistakes and to stumble 
and fall continually. Somehow we seem never 
to get our lessons learned. We think we know 
them, that we have fully mastered them, but 
when we try to put them into word or act we 
fail. We think we have learned patience at last, 
but we have scarcely got into the thick of life's 
events and experiences and begun to be tested 
when our patience is gone and we speak unad- 
visedly or act foolishly. We think we have 
faith now, and that we shall not again lose 

[47 ] 



C]^e 2lpper €untnt0 



confidence in any trial, but we have gone only 
a little way in the darkness of some new expe- 
rience when our faith fails as before. 
So it is with all our lessons, — we seem never 
able to get them wrought fully into life. But 
this should not discourage us. We are only 
learners, scholars at school, as yet. We are only 
children — not men. The fruit is not yet ripe. 
The picture is not yet painted. But if only we 
leave the fruit under the culture of the wise 
Husbandman it will some time grow to ripe- 
ness. The picture which seems only an outline 
sketch at present, dimly revealing the features 
of the Artisfs thought, at length, when finished 
will win the praise of all who see it. We should 
be patient with our own slow progress in the 
Christian life, and with the growth in us of the 
things that belong to Christlikeness. If only we 
are sincere, faithful, and diligent we shall some 
day reach the mark. Others have gone on the 
same slow, painful way, and at length have 
realized all the beautiful visions of their hearts. 
So shall we, if we keep our faith and slack not 
our hand. 

[48] 



d^oti'js ^lotD jHafeina of m 

** One held unwritten in his heart through years 

A song for which his earthly lips were mute, 
Wherein were blended prayer, and peace^ and 
tears, 

Regret and hope which heaven shall bring to 
fruit ; 

A song unsung to mortal harp or lute. 
Yet in his life the rhythmic fall of days 

Love-tuned, the cadenced years of ministry, 
Wrought out before the Lord a chant of praise. 

Which noio his choirs are singing by that sea 

Where many mansions be, ' ' 

For the same reason we should learn to wait 
for God until he makes known his purpose and 
will. Some of his ways seem strange to us. We 
cannot see love in their dark lines. Nor can we 
see how good can possibly come to us out of the 
painful experiences through which we are pass- 
ing. Again we should remember that we may 
not judge of any work in its processes, but 
should wait until we see it finished. Take the 
story of Joseph, for illustration. If the narra- 
tive ended with the account of the boy carried 
off by the traders into Egypt, or with the ac- 
count of the false accusation against him, under 

t 49 ] 



C^e ^vvtt €munt^ 



which he was cast into a dungeon and loaded 
with chains, we should see nothing beautiful in 
it, and could find no justification of the good- 
ness of God in permitting such terrible wrongs 
to befall one of his children. But when we read 
the story thi'ough to the end, and find Joseph 
at last next to the king in power, using his 
power for the good of his own people and for 
the good of the world, then we find abundant 
justification of God's righteousness. 
Life is full of similar experiences. We must 
wait for the last chapter of the serial, to learn 
how the story ends, before we form a final 
opinion upon it. We must wait until the last 
chapter of a life is written before we say of the 
manner of its making that God is not good 
and kind. Knowing God as we do to be our 
Father we may trust his love and wisdom, 
though we can see nothing of love or goodness 
in the way he deals with us. 

* ' / will not doubt, though all my ships at sea 
Come drifting home, with broken masts and 

sails ; 
I mil believe the Hand which never fails, 
[ 50] 



(!5oli'0 ^lol(ti jEafiing of m 

From seeming evil worketh good for me ; 
And though I weep 'because those sails are tattered, 
Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered^ 
* I trust in thee. ' ' ' 

It is a good thing to get into the heart such a 
strong faith in God that we shall never for a 
moment doubt the outcome of any experience 
or combination of experiences while we are do- 
ing his will and trusting him. This is not a 
world of chance — there is no chance anywhere. 
This is not the deviPs world. Our Adversary 
does not have his own way, without restraint, 
without limit. "The Lord reigneth." "My 
Father worketh hitherto, and I work.''^ The 
divine Hand is active in all the affairs of the 
earth. God knows what he is doing with us. In 
all that he sends to us — joy and sorrow, suc- 
cess and failure, hope and fear, pleasure and 
pain, loss and gain, he is making us. We have 
only to be loyal and faithful to him in every 
thought and feeling, and trustful in all expe- 
riences, and at length we shall find that in noth- 
ing has our divine Maker erred, but that he 
has done all things well. 

[51 ] 



Cmnjsifiguration 



[ 53 ] 



" We who are of the earth need not be earthy ; 

God made our natv/re like his own — divine : 
Nothing but selfishness can be unworthy 

Of his pu/re image meant through us to shine. 
The death of deaths it is ourselves to smother 

In our own pleasures^ his dishonored gift ; 
And life — eternal life — to love each other ; 

Ov/r sovls with Christ in sacrifice to lift." 



[ 54 ] 



CHAPTER FIFTH 




RANSFIGURATION . . . 

not Chrisf^s, but ours. It 
does not seem strange to 
read that one wonderful 
night Jesus was trans- 
figui^ed. Deity dwelt in 
him. The wonder was that he was not always 
transfigured. But we are to have transfigui'a- 
tions too, we who belong to this earth. Saint 
Paul says to Christians, " Be ye transfigured.'' 
Oui' dull lives should shine. 
This is not to be, either, after we get into 
heaven, but now, right here, in the present 
life. Nor is it to be in certain favored condi- 
tions, merely, in some holy service, but in the 
midst of the world's common experiences. Mr. 
Drummond said, "The three ingredients of a 
perfect life are : work, which gives opportunity ; 
God, who gives happiness ; love, that gives 
warmth." He reminds us also that the one per- 

[ 55] 



Ci^e Opper Curtentjs 



fectly transfigured life the world has known was 
spent, not with a book, but with a hammer 
and a saw. Thus the possibility of transfigura- 
tion is brought very near to us. Not in some 
rare ethereal circumstances only can the prob- 
lem be worked out, but in the plainest, com- 
monest lot. 

Some people complain because they have so 
much to do, giving this as an excuse for not 
living beautifully. But there is no other way in 
which a life will become transfigured so quickly, 
so surely, as in the faithful, happy, cheerful 
doing of everyday tasks. Ordinary work is one 
of the best means of grace. Household life is 
not a sphere merely for good cooking, tidy 
sweeping and dusting, careful nursing, and the 
thousand things that it includes ; it is a sphere, 
primarily, for transforming women'^s souls into 
radiant beauty. The shop, the mill, the store, 
the office, the farm, are not places merely for 
making machines, selling goods, weaving cloths, 
building engines, and growing crops ; they are 
places, first of all, for making men, for building 
character, for growing souls. Right in the midst 

[ 56] 



Cmnjsfigutatfon 



of what some people call life's drudgery is the 
very best place in the world to get transfigured 
character. 

We do not get the transfiguration out of the air. 
It is more than complexion — it runs deeper. It 
is not the result of the use of certain brands of 
cosmetics. The truth is, transfiguration is from 
within. It works from the heart out to the sur- 
face. It is something which the soul creates. 
It is the work of will and thought and feeling 
and being. One may have fine features, classi- 
cally moulded, with a complexion pure, fresh, 
and beautiful as a child's, and yet not have a 
transfigured face. It is what shines out from 
within that transfigures. One taught a child to 
say, 

Beautiful thoughts make a beautiful soul, 
And a beautiful soul makes a beautiful face. 

There is a whole philosophy in the couplet and 
the whole secret of gromng beautiful. With 
the lesson written out so plainly, every young 
person should be able to get a transfigured 
face. Some one says that every face ought to be 

[ 57 ] 



W^t ^pvtt €uxunt^ 



beautiful at forty. That is, forty years ought to 
be time enough for the mystic chisels to carve 
loveliness in any face. It is more than the work 
of a day or a week. An artist may put a shin- 
ing portrait on his canvas in a little while, but 
no one can put a transfiguration on human 
features in a day. It is the work of years. 
Slowly the beauty works up from the mind and 
spirit, through the nerves and muscles, into 
brow and cheeks and eyes. 
" Beautiful thoughts '''' ! So we see where we 
must begin — not with atmosphere and dainty 
cosmetics and lotions, but with thoughts. If we 
would have the heavenly shining on our face 
we must get heaven within our heart. One 
writes of another. 



Her face was pinched and pale and thin, 
But splendor struck it from within. 

That is the only way to get the splendor on 
any face — from within. And it makes little 
difference whether the physical features are 
handsome or not, whether the cheeks are full 
and fair and blooming, or thin and pale and 

[ 58 ] 



Cmnjsftfiuration 



pinched — if the glory breaks through from 
within there is a transfiguration. The problem 
then is to get the beautiful thoughts, to have 
the sweet, radiant inner life. If the angel is 
truly within, the enswathings of flesh will by 
and by become transparent, so that the loveli- 
ness shall shine through. 

How to work out the problem is the question — 
how to get the splendor within, how to get in 
mind and heart the beauty that shall work out 
into the face. It is not easy to live a heavenly 
life in a world where the influences are antag- 
onistic. It is much easier to conform to the 
maxims, habits, and dispositions of those about 
us than to maintain a life of prayer, of holi- 
ness, of love, in an atmosphere that is uncon- 
genial. People sometimes grow weary in the 
struggle and say, " It is no use. I cannot stem 
the tide of worldly tendency. I cannot keep my 
heart gentle and sweet amid the selfishness, the 
meanness, the injustice, the dishonesty, about 
me.'*'' Yet this is just what we must do if we 
would be victorious in life. 
The secret of transfiguration must always be 

[ 59] 



Ci^e 2lpper Currentjs 



within. It begins in the new birth, being born 
again, born from above. A Christian, according 
to the New Testament, is one in whom Christ 
lives. Luther said that if anyone would knock 
at his heart's door and ask, " Who lives here ? '' 
he would answer, " Jesus lives here.'' One pict- 
ure in The Revelation shows Christ outside a 
door, knocking, and we hear him saying, " Be- 
hold, I stand at the door and knock : if any 
man hear my voice and open the door, I will 
come in to him, and will sup with him, and he 
with me." This seems very wonderful, but it is 
no mere fancy. A German tale describes a 
fisherman's log hut that was changed into a 
temple of exquisitely wrought silver by a silver 
lamp, which was set within the hut^ This illus- 
trates what takes place in our lowly earthly 
lives when the glorious Christ is let into our 
hearts to dwell there. 

Transfiguration is something very real. Sinful 
things are put out of the life, and the beauty 
of Christ takes their place. All holiness of char- 
acter is summed up in love. If we truly love, 
our life is transfigured. Love is bright and 

[60] 



Ctansjfigumtion 



shining. Love makes all the world bright to 
our eyes. One writes : " A woman with a lov- 
ing heart is sure to look upon the bright side 
of life, and by her example induces others to 
do so. She sees a good reason for all the un- 
welcome events which others call bad luck. 
She believes in silver linings and likes to point 
them out to others. A week of rain or fog, an 
avalanche of unexpected guests, a dishonest 
servant, an unbecoming bonnet, or any other 
of the minor afflictions of everyday life have 
nothing to distm'b the deep calm of her soul. 
The love-light is always in her eyes, whether 
the day be dark or bright. It is she who con- 
quers the gi'im old uncle and the dyspeptic 
aunt. The crossest baby reaches out its arms 
to her and is comforted. Old people and 
strangers always ask the way of her in the 
crowded streets. . . . Her gentle heart helps 
her to see the reason for every poor sinner's 
mistakes and condones every fault."'' That is 
transfiguration. 

Saint Paul's list of the fruits of the Spirit all 
ai^e shining qualities. Love is the first. Joy is 

[ 61 ] 



Ci^e appet €mnnt^ 



another. Joy is always bright. It is blue sky 
filled with stars. Peace is another. All in the 
wonderful list are transfigured graces — " long- 
suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, meek- 
ness, self-control.^** They all are features of the 
image of God, which though dimmed or marred 
by sin are restored by the Spirit in the new 
Christian life. This is the ideal for every Chris- 
tian life — shining with the glory of God's 
grace. 

In some heathen temple the priest puts a mark 
on the face of the worshippers who have made 
their offerings before the idol, and all day they 
bear this mark wherever they go. All who 
see them know where they have been in the 
morning, and what they have done. Nearly 
everyone we meet on the streets carries some 
mark which tells whence he has come, at what 
altar he has knelt. In some faces one sees the 
look which tells unmistakably of a life of 
animalism — appetite, lust, passion. It is easy 
to know at what shrines these bow. Some faces 
show hardness, coldness, bitterness, and one 
reads in them of the crushing out of the gentle- 

[62] 



Ctan^ftguratfon 



ness of the heart in resentment or misanthropy. 
One's face is marked with the deep furrows of 
care, teUing of anxiety and worry. Here is one 
that bears traces of sorrow. There are men, 
too, who worship at the altar of Mammon 
and women who bow before the goddess of 
Pleasure. Each face tells the story of the life's 
devotion. 

There are those, too, whose faces carry in 
them the shining of peace which tells of the 
love of Christ in their heart. Wherever they 
go they shed a quiet, holy light, which wit- 
nesses to their faith and their devotion to the 
will of God. This is the one secret of trans- 
figuration. It comes only in the life 

** Where beauty 
Walks hand in hand with duty. ' ' 



[63] 



Mtpim ^we'si tift in t^xnt 



[65] 



Dear Lord and Father of mankind^ 

Forgive our feverish ways ! 
Reclothe its in our rightful mind ; 
In purer lives thy service find^ 

In deeper reverence^ praise. 

Drop thy still dews of quietness 

Till all our strivings cease ; 
Take from our souls the strain and stress,^ 
And let our ordered lives confess 

The beauty of thy peace. 

— J. G. Whittibb. 



[66] 



CHAPTER SIXTH 

J^eeptng €)ne*^ life in Cune 




lANOS have to be kept in 
tune. Every now and then 
the tuner comes and goes 
over all the strings, keying 
them up, so that there will 
be no discords when the in- 
strument is played. Our lives have a great 
many more strings than a piano, and much 
more easily get out of tune. Then they begin 
to make discords, and the music is spoiled. 
We need to watch them carefully, to keep 
their strings always up to concert pitch. 
One way in which a piano is put out of tune is 
by use. The constant striking of the strings 
stretches them and they need to be keyed up 
from time to time. Life'^s common experiences 
have an exhausting effect. It is said of Jesus 
that "virtue went out of him'' as he went about 
healing those who were sick. Virtue always goes 
out of us as we work, as we sympathize with 

[67] 



Ci^e (Uppet €mvmt^ 



pain or sorrow, as we minister to others, as we 
strive and struggle. Duty drains our life foun- 
tains. We have our daily tasks, temptations, 
burdens, cares, trials, and at the close of the day 
we are tired, and the music our life makes is 
naturally not as sweet as it was in the morn- 
ing. Night has a blessed ministry in renewing 
our physical vitality so that our bodies are 
ready with the new day for new service. And 
the songfulness of life is far more dependent 
upon the bodily condition than we dream of. It 
is much easier to be joyous and sweet when we 
are fi'esh and strong than when we are jaded 
and weary. 

But the body is not all. We are made for com- 
munion with God. We need also to come into 
his presence at the end of the day to be spirit- 
ually renewed. The other day a young woman 
whose work is very hard, with long hours and 
incessant pressure, took a little time jfrom her 
noon hour to call upon an older friend, saying, 
" I felt that if I could see you for five minutes, 
to get an encouraging word, I could get 
through the afternoon better.*^' What is true of 

( 68 ] 



i^eept'ng €>ne'js life in Zunt 

a human friend, is true yet more of God. If we 
can get a little while with him when we are 
weary, when our strength is running low, our 
life will be put in tune so that the music will 
be sweet again. We cannot afford to live a day 
without communion with Christ, to get his 
strength, joy, and peace into our hearts. 
One of the principal ways in which Sunday 
helps us is by lifting us up for a little while 
into accord with heavenly things. We with- 
draw from the toil, bustle, and noise of our 
weekday work into the quiet, where we can 
hear the songs of peace, catch sight of the 
face of God and commune with holy thoughts. 
The effect, if we avail ourselves of the possi- 
bilities of such a privilege, is to start us anew 
on a higher plane of living. 
Henry Ward Beecher tells of visiting a painter. 
" I saw on his table some high-colored stones, 
and I asked him what they were for. He said 
that they were to keep his eye up to tone. 
When he was working in pigments, insensibly 
his sense of color was weakened, and by having 
a pure color near him he brought it up again, 

[69] 



Ci^e ^pptv €mtmt^ 



just as the musician, by his test fork, brings 
himself up to the right pitch. Now every day 
men need to have a sense of the invisible God. 
No nature is of such magnitude that it does 
not need daily to be tuned, chorded, borne up 
to the idea of a pure and lofty life.''' 
Another way in which a piano is put out of 
tune is by disuse. If it is kept closed its strings 
will lose their tone. The best way to take care 
of the instrument is to keep it in constant use. 
It is the same with our lives. They keep in tune 
best when they are fully occupied. It is a law 
of nature that a power not used wastes — at 
length shrivels and dies. This is true of all our 
faculties. Musicians can maintain their skill 
only by unceasing practice. A great pianist said 
that if he missed his hours at his instrument 
for three days, the public would know it ; if for 
two days, his friends would be aware of it ; and 
that if he failed in his practice even for one 
day, he himself would be conscious of it. Only 
daily practice would keep his fingers up to their 
standard of skill. 

If we would keep our life in tune we must not 

[70] 



keeping €>ne'js life in Cune 

allow its powers to lie unused. We make the 
sweetest music when we are living at our best. 
An idle man never can be truly happy, nor 
can he be the best maker of happiness for others. 
We learn to love more by loving. We grow 
more joyous by rejoicing. If we cease to be kind 
even for a few days, it will show in the lower- 
ing of the tone of our life as others know us. 
If for only a day we fail in showing kindness, 
our hand will lose something of its skill and 
deftness in life'^s sweet ministries. Very beauti- 
ful is the prayer — 

'*Iask, Lord, that from my life may flow 
JSueh gladsome music, soothing, sweet, and clear 
From a flne-strung harp, to reach the weary ear 
Of struggling men. 

To hid them pause awhile and listen ; then 
With spirit calmer, stronger than before, 
Take up their work once more. 
I only pray that, through the common days 
Of this, my life, unceasingly may steal 
Into some aching heart strains that shall help to 

heal 
Its long-home pain. 
To lift the thoughts from self and worldly gain 

[ 71 ] 



Ci^e ^pptv €nnmt^ 



And fill the life with harmonies divine ; 

Oh, may such power be mine ! 

Thus would I live ; and when all working days 

Are o^erfor me, 

May the rich music of my life ring on 

Eternally!'' 

One who strives to make such a wish come 
true will always keep the harp of his life in 
tune. All the lessons set for us to learn may be 
gathered into one — the lesson of loving. Love 
is life^^s sweetest, best music. 
A piano is put out of tune also by misuse. A 
skilful musician may spend hours in playing 
upon it without affecting the tone of any of 
the strings, but inexperienced and unskilful 
playing jangles the chords and makes the in- 
strument incapable of producing sweet musical 
effects. Many people so misuse and abuse their 
lives that they destroy their power to give 
out sweetness. The consequence of sin is not 
merely the breaking of the divine law — every 
sin leaves marring and hurt in the life of him 
who commits it. Every time we violate our 
conscience or resist the divine will we lower the 

[ 72 ] 



laeeptng €>ne*?j life in Cune 

moral tone of our being. In the familiar song, 
the bird with the broken wing never soared 
so high again. If we would keep our life in 
tune, so that it will make sweet music every 
day and wherever we go, we must avoid doing 
things that are wrong and do always the things 
that are right. 

We cannot think too seriously of the hurt 
which sin inflicts upon our lives. We readily 
believe that the grosser sins do irremediable 
harm whenever they are indulged in. One who 
commits them is never the same again. Though 
forgiven and restored to divine favor, the effects 
of the sins remain. But in a measure the conse- 
quences of every form of evil are the same. A 
wicked thought leaves a stain. A moment of 
anger wounds and scars the soul. A grudge 
cherished hardens the heart. Bad temper works 
ruinously amid the affections. Envy is like a 
canker, eating out the life's finer texture. Jeal- 
ousy sweeps amid all the gentle things of the 
heart like a fire, and nothing is ever so beauti- 
ful as before. Lost innocence comes not again. 
We do not know what harm we are letting into 

I 73 J 



Ci^e Oppet €uumt^ 



our life when we open the door to an unkindly 
feeling, a prompting of pride, any emotion 
which is not in accordance with the will and 
love of God. They put the harp of a thousand 
strings out of tune. 

Musicians have a standard pitch by which they 
tune all their instruments. The standard for 
our lives is the will of God. The word of God 
gives us the keynote. Oui' lives will make music 
only when they are in harmony with God. 
Jesus himself said, " I do always those things 
that please him."*' Then he said that, because of 
his unfailing obedience, the Father never left 
him alone. There was never any discordance or 
disharmony between his life and the Father'^s. 
Our lives are in tune just in so far as they are 
in harmony with God's will. Jesus said that if 
we keep his commandments we shall abide in 
his love, which means that there shall be noth- 
ing discordant between his life and ours. 
" Nearer, my God, to thee,*" is a prayer for the 
lifting of our spirits into such relations with 
God that the communion between him and us 
shall be perfect and unbroken. 

[74] 



I^eeping €>ne'js life in Cune 

* * Just to be tender ; just to he true ; 
Just to he glad the whole day through ; 
Just to he merciful ; just to he mild ; 
Just to he trustful as a child ; 
Just to he gentle, and hind, and sweet ; 
Just to he helpful, with willing feet ; 
Just to he cheery when things go wrong ; 
Just to drive sadness away with a song ; 
Whether the hour is dark or hright. 
Just to he loyal to God and right ; 
Just to helieve that God knows hest; 
Just in his promise ever to rest ; 
Just to let love he our daily key — 
This is God's will for you and for me,*^ 

The bringing of the powers of our o^vn Hves into 
tune is really the great problem of all spiritual 
culture. It takes all life here to work out the 
problem. All our mortal years we are in train- 
ing. The object of all the discipline of experi- 
ence is to bring our faculties and powers under 
the mastery of the divine Spirit, and to school 
our affections and feelings, our longings and de- 
sires, into the beauty of love. 
While the audience is waiting for a concert to 
begin they hear a strange clangor back of the 
scenes. The instruments are being brought into 

f 75] 



Ci^e aipper €untnt^ 



accord. At first they are far apart in their 
tones, but in a httle time they all come into 
perfect harmony. Then the music begins. Each 
human life is a whole orchestra in itself. But it 
is not always in tune, and before it can begin 
to make sweet music its many chords must all 
be brought into accord. This is the work of 
spiritual culture. It is achieved only by the 
submission of the whole life to God. This is the 
work which divine grace sets itself to do in us. 
If we would have this result achieved we must 
sweetly and earnestly yield ourselves to God 
that he may bring us into tune with his own 
Spirit and teach us to make heavenly music in 
this world. 



[ 76] 



I^utttng at»a^ Ci^fngis pa^ 



I ^^ ] 



'* The past is o'er — 
Waste not thy days in vain regret^ 
Grieve thou no more. 

'' Look now before 
And not behind thee ; do not fret — 
The past is &er. 

" Close memory's door ; 
That day is dead^ that sun has set — 
The past is o'er, 

" There are in store 
For thee still happy days. Forget ! 
Grieve thou no more" 



[ 78 ] 



CHAPTER SEVENTH 

flatting atwai? Ci^ingisj pa^t 




NE of the most serious prob- 
lems of life is the laying 
down of things with which 
we have nothing more to 
do. It is hard for us to let 
go interests and affairs for 
which we have been responsible for a time, but 
the responsibility for which is now another'^s, 
not ours. We are apt to want to keep our hand 
upon the old tasks even when they are ours no 
longer. They seem to be part of our life which 
we cannot lay down. The old man, when his 
work and his cares have passed to his sons, or 
to others, finds it almost impossible not to 
continue his hold upon things. The mother in 
her advanced years, when her daughters are in 
their own homes and she is guest now, her old 
age gently sheltered by their love, unconsciously 
thinks of them as children still and expects not 
only the old honor which is rightly hers and 

[79] 



Ci^e appet €mvmt^ 



freely accorded, but ofttimes the old deference 
to authority, which is not her right. 
In other ways, too, we find it almost impossible 
to break with our past. It is hard to give up a 
friend with whom one has been long associated, 
when by some providence the friend is taken 
away from one's companionship. Perhaps it is 
by death. The relation was one of sacred close- 
ness. The fi'iend was in all our life, one with us 
in all tender interests, the companion of our 
days and nights. We had learned to turn to 
him for counsel, to lean on him for support, to 
look to him for guidance and wisdom. We did 
nothing without him. He was eyes and hands 
and feet for us. He had long absorbed our early 
affection. 

Then death takes him from us. It is easy to 
read over the comforts which the Scriptures 
have for us in our soitow. We may also accept 
these comforts and let their quieting peace into 
our hearts. There may be no rebellion, no in- 
submission in our thought. We may look for- 
ward to the after-life with sure hope of re- 
union. Yet it seems impossible to leave oui- 

[ 80 ] 



friend out of our life, or to go on without him. 
Until yesterday he was in everything ; how can 
we endure having him withdrawn from every- 
thing, every interest, every joy, every task, to- 
day ? Yet that is the problem we must work 
out, for we cannot bring him back again. We 
must go on with our work and must do it well. 
We must learn, therefore, to do without the 
companionship, the cheer, the inspiration, of 
the friend who has gone from us. 
There are two thoughts which will help to 
make this possible: first, a simple faith in 
Christ's teachings concerning the Christian's 
death and the other life ; second, a vivid sense 
of present duty. If we clearly understand and 
fully believe that he who has gone from us is. 
with Christ, living and continuing his life in a 
higher sphere, that he is happy and blessed, 
and actively engaged in his Redeemer'^s service, 
it will not be so hard to go on here without 
his bodily presence. Though we do not have 
him with us, cheering our earthly life as before, 
we have not really lost him. He is with us in 
all precious memories. The influence of his 

[ 81 ] 



Ci^e (Upptv €unmt^ 



life broods over us and has an abiding benedic- 
tion for us. We are sure of his unchanged love 
for us, though out of our sight, and of his 
continued sympathy with us in all our work, 
struggle, and sorrow. With such faith as this, 
om* life here will not be lonely. We have Christ 
and in Christ we have our friend, too, in a 
companionship that is full of precious joy and 
holy inspiration. 

Then, further help in getting on without our 
friend who has been so much to us is found in 
earnest devotion to our own duty. Though his 
work on earth is finished, ours is not, and we 
may not slack our diligence until for us, too, 
the sun goes down. In a great battle, the com- 
manding officer, leading his men in an assault, 
came upon the body of his own son, lying on 
the field. His impulse was to stop and give 
way to his grief, but he dared not do it. His 
duty was with his command. The issue of the 
battle depended upon him. So, falling upon the 
beloved form, he pressed a hot kiss on the 
dead lips, and then went on with his men, 
braver and stronger for his grief. We may 

[ 82 ] 



never let life's tasks drop out of our hands for 
sorrow, not even for an hour. Our work must 
be finished before the end of the day, and we 
have not a moment to lose. When we come to 
render our account, grief will not excuse us for 
failure in duty, for tasks omitted, for life'^s 
work unfinished. 

Besides, in no other way can the divine comfort 
come to us with such fulness, such sweetness, 
such strengthening power, as when our hearts 
and hands are busy in duties and tasks for 
others. This is the only truly wholesome way 
to live at any time. The last thing for one in 
bereavement, seeking comfort, is to be idle. 
Then the grief feeds upon the life itself, and 
wastes and wears it out. But when in our sorrow 
we turn away from self to ministries of love for 
others, our hearts find comfort. Thus, and thus 
only, can we learn to live without one who has 
been everything to us in the past. 
There is another way in which one may go out 
of om* life and have to be given up irremedi- 
ably. A letter received from a noble young 
woman tells of a friendship of years which has 

[ 83] 



Ci^e oppet cuttentjj 



now come to an end through the faithlessness 
of one who had long professed sincere friend- 
ship, but who at last has proved unworthy. 
There had been years of confidence, when no 
one doubted that he was a good man, and 
faithful and loyal in his friendship. At length, 
however, there came disclosures which made it 
necessary for the young woman to end at once 
relations which had meant everything to her, 
and to put out of her life altogether the friend- 
ship which, until that day, had seemed most 
worthy and satisfying. 

Her friend had wrought himself into all her 
life. Their associations had been ideal. There 
had not been a shadow of fear in her love and 
trust. She had cherished many precious hopes 
for the future. For years she had had no thought 
of life apart from him. He was in all her pleas- 
ures, in all her plans, in all her dreams. Now 
the idol lies shattered at her feet, and there is 
no hope that it can ever be restored to its old 
place. It is certain that she must live hence- 
forth without him. 

But how can she do this ? For one thing, she 

[84] 



may say that he has no longer any rightful 
place in her life. By his own acts he has sep- 
arated himself from her irrevocably. She must 
now fill the empty place with other interests. 
It will be hard for her to put away all that has 
been so dear, so essential to her happiness, but 
there is nothing else to be done. 
Sometimes in such cases the grief over the dis- 
appointment is allowed to darken the wronged 
life, mar its beauty and hinder its usefulness. 
But it is not thus that the Master would have 
one of his friends meet such a trial. He wants 
us in all experiences to be victorious. When we 
must endure wrong he would have us endure it 
sweetly and songfuUy. He knows how hard 
such an experience is, for he suffered the worst 
phases of false friendship in his own life. He 
understands, therefore, and sympathizes, and 
will help. This is a harder experience than 
where a faithful friend has died, for then all 
the memories are sacred and the tie is still un- 
broken, for 

** Death doth hide. 
But not divide.'* 
[85] 



Ci^e appet €unmt^ 



In this case, however, even the memory has 
been stained by the falseness at the last, and 
the separation is real and final. Yet there still 
is comfort in devotion to Christ and to the 
service of love in his name. Always it is true 
that the lonely life may find solace and satis- 
faction in ministering to others. In no other 
way does comfort come so surely and with such 
consoling power to the empty heart. In feed- 
ing others we feed ourselves. 
These are illustrations of a duty which ofttimes 
is very important— to cut ourselves altogether 
off from a past with which we now have noth- 
ing whatever to do. We are to forget the things 
which are behind and press toward the things 
which are before. We make a mistake when we 
allow the memories of the past or its influences 
so to absorb our mind and heart as to unfit us 
for doing well the duties of the present. 
Emerson teaches the lesson well in a terse para- 
graph : " Finish every day and be done with 
it. You have done what you could. Some blun- 
ders and absurdities no doubt crept in ; forget 
them as soon as you can. To-moiTOw is a new 

[ 86 ] 



putting atcat Ci^ingjS pa^t 

day ; begin it well and serenely ; and with too 
high a spirit to be cumbered with your old 
nonsense. This day is all that is good and fair. 
It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, 
to waste a moment on the yesterdays. 



'>'> 



[ 87 ] 



Ci^e Eipentng of O^amctet 



[ 89] 



It matters little the pace we take. 

If we journey sturdily on 
With the burden bearer's steady gait^ 

Till the day^s last hour is gone ; 
Or ify with the dancing feet of the child, 

Or the halting step of age^ 
We keep the goal in the eye of the soul^ 

Through the years of our pilgrimage. 

— Margaret E. Sangster. 



[90] 



CHAPTER EIGHTH 

€1^0 Etpmtng of Cl^amctet: 




HARACTER is a growth. 
It is like fruit — it requires 
time to ripen. Different 
kinds of fi-uits come to 
ripeness at different sea- 
sons ; some in the early 
summer, some later, and some only in the 
autumn. It is so with Christian lives — they 
ripen at different seasons. There are those who 
seem to grow into sweetness in early years, 
then those who reach their best in the mid 
years, and many who only in the autumn of 
old age come into mellow ripeness. 
All life is a season of character-growing. We 
are left in this world, not so much for what 
we may do here, for the things we may make, 
as that we ourselves may grow into the beauty 
of God"'s thought for us. In the midst of all 
our occupations and struggles, all our doing of 
tasks, all our longings and desires, all our ex- 

[91 ] 



Cl^e ^vptv €untnt^ 



periences of every kind, there is a work going 
on in us which is quite as important as any- 
thing we are doing with our mind or with our 
hands. 

In the school the boy has his tasks and lessons. 
According to his diligence or indolence is his 
progress in his studies. In ten years, if he is 
faithful, he masters many things and stands 
high in his class. Or, if he is indifferent and 
careless, he gets only a smattering of knowl- 
edge, with so many links missing that his 
education is of little practical use to him. But 
meanwhile there has been going on in him 
another education, a growth of development of 
character. The mind grows by exercise, just as 
the body does. Each lesson learned adds its 
new fact to the measure of knowledge, but 
there is, besides, an effect produced upon the 
mind itself by the effort to learn. It grows by 
exercise. 

Then there is also a subjective moral impres- 
sion produced by the way the task is per- 
formed. If one is faithful and conscientious, 
truly doing his best, the endeavor leaves a 

[92] 



C^e Etnentng of Cl^atacter 

mark of beauty in the life. But if one is un- 
faithful, indolent, false to one's self, there is 
left a wound, a trace of marring and blemish, 
a weakening of the life. 

The same is as true of all life's callings as of 
schoolwork. The farmer is cultivating his soil, 
tilling his fields, looking after the manifold duties 
of his occupation ; but this is not all that he is 
doing. At the same time he is making char- 
acter of some kind, building up the fabric of 
his own manhood. The carpenter is working in 
wood, but he is also' working on life — his own 
life. The mason is hewing stones and setting 
them in the wall, but he is also quarrying out 
blocks for the temple of character which he 
himself is building in himself. Men in all call- 
ings and employments are continually pro- 
ducing a double set of results, in that on which 
they work, and in their own lives. We are in 
this world to grow, to make character in our- 
selves, and every hour we leave some mark, 
some impression on the life within us, an im- 
pression which shall endure when all the work 
of GUI' hands has perished. 

[ 93 1 



Ci^e ^pptt Current jcj 



But there is also a growth of character which 
goes on continually under the influence of life'^s 
circumstances and experiences. Fruits are de- 
veloped and are brought on toward ripeness by 
the influence of the weather and the climate. 
It takes all the different seasons, with their 
variety of climatic conditions, to produce a 
delicious apple, a mellow pear, or a cluster of 
luscious grapes. Winter does its part as well as 
spring, summer, and autumn. Night and day, 
cloud and sunshine, cold and heat, wind and 
calm, all work together to bring the fruit to 
ripeness. 

In like manner all life's varied experiences have 
their place in the making and the culture of 
our character. All sunshine would not make 
good fruit, nor would all gladness and joy pro- 
duce the richest character. We need the dark 
as well as the light ; cold, rough winter as well 
as warm, gentle summer. We should not, there- 
fore, be afraid of life, whatever experiences 
it may bring to us. But we should always 
remember that nothing in life's experiences 
ought to be allowed to hurt our spirits. Temp- 

[ 94 ] 



Ci^e Eipentng of €i^avacttx 

tations may make their fierce assaults, may cause 
us sore struggles, but we need not be harmed 
by them, need not carry away from them any 
stain. Earthly want may leave its marks of 
emaciation on our body, but the inner life 
need not bear any trace of enfeebling. We 
ought to be growing continually in beauty 
and strength of character, however painful our 
lot in life. Sickness may waste physical strength 
and blight the beauty of the face, but it need 
not leave any hurtful trace on the life itself. 
Indeed, in the midst of the most exhausting 
and disfiguring illness, the inner life may con- 
tinue to grow in strength and beauty. St. Paul 
gives us this assurance, " Though our outward 
man is decaying, yet our inward man is re- 
newed day by day.*" That is, if we are living as 
we may live in relation to Christ, our real life 
will only become more radiant and beautiful as 
the external life grows more infirm and feeble. 

** And what of the hours when, hand and foot, 
We are bound and laid aside, 
With the fevered vein and the throbbing pain, 
And the world at its low ebb-tide f 
[95 ] 



Ci^e 2Ippet Currents 



And what of our day of the broken hearty 

When all that our eyes can see 
Is the vacant space where the vanished face 

Of our darling used to he f 

** Then, waiting and watching and almost spent. 

Comes peace from the Lord^s own handy 
In his blessed will, if we rest content, 

Though we cannot understand ; 
And we gather anew our courage and hope 

For the road so rough to climb, 
With trial and peril we well may cope 

One single step at a time, ' ' 

Yet too often this possibility is not realized. 
Not all Christian people bear loss, sorrow, and 
sickness in this victorious way. Too often do we 
see men yielding to trouble, not growing more 
beautiful in soul, but losing their spiritual 
beauty in lifer's trials. This is not the way it 
should be, however. Our character should ripen 
in life'^s weather, whatever the weather mav be. 
"Tribulation worketh patience.'' The object of 
life is to learn to live. We are at school here, 
and shall always be at school until we are dis- 
missed from earth's classes to be promoted into 
heaven. It is a pity if we do not learn our 

[96 J 



Ci^e Eipentng of €i^avacttt 

lessons. It is a pity if we gi^ow no gentler, no 
kindlier, no more thoughtful, no more un- 
selfish, no sweeter in spirit, no less worldly, if 
the peace of our heart is not deepened, as the 
years pass over us. 

There are some fruits which remain acrid and 
bitter until the frosts come. There are Hves 
which never become mellow in love's tenderness 
until sorrow''s fi-osts have touched them. There 
are those who come out of every new experi- 
ence of suffering or pain with a new blessing in 
their lives, cleansed of some earthliness, and 
made a little more like God. It is God's design 
for us that this should always be the outcome 
of affliction, that the fruits of the Spirit in us 
should be a little riper and mellower after every 
experience of trouble ; and we fail and disap- 
point God when it is not so. 
Old age should be the true harvest time of the 
years. Life should grow more and more beauti- 
ful unto the end. It should increase in knowl- 
edge, in wisdom, in all the graces of the Spirit, 
in all the sweetness of love, in all that is 
Chiistlike. Christian old people should be like 

[97 ] 



Ci^e ^vptv Curtentjs 



»> 



trees in the autumn, their branches full of ripe 
fruit to feed the hunger of those who live 
about them. They should be 

* ' Rich in experience that angels might cornet ; 
Rich in a faith that has grown with the years. 

We have much to do with this ripening of our 
own character. God gives us his grace, but it 
is ours to receive it, and we may reject it. It is 
only when we abide in Christ that our lives 
grow in Christlikeness. The same sun brings 
out the beauty in the living branch, and withers 
the branch that is torn from the tree. Soitow 
and pain blight the life that is not hid with 
Christ in God, and make more beautiful and 
more fi-uitful the life that is truly in Christ. 
If we live thus continually under the influence 
of the divine grace, om^ character shall grow 
with the years into mellow ripeness. Even the 
rough weather, the storm and the rain, the 
chill of cold nights and the snows of winter, 
will onlv bleach out the stains and cleanse our 
life into whiteness. 

The smallest things have their influence upon 

[98] 



Cl^e mtpentng of Ci^aracter 

character and upon the beauty and the help- 
fulness of a life. It was related recently of an 
English oculist, that he had given up cricket 
purely in the interest of his profession. He was 
very fond of the game, but he found that play- 
ing affected the delicacy of his touch and made 
him less ready for the work he was required to 
do every day upon the eyes of his patients. A 
pianist said the other day that he had given 
up riding his bicycle, because grasping the 
bars stiffened the muscles of his fingers and 
affected his playing. 

There are occupations which in like manner 
affect the life and character injuriously, hinder 
the growth of spirituality or make one less 
effective in work upon the life and character of 
others. We need to deal with ourselves firmly 
and very heroically. Anything that unfits us 
for doing our work in the best way possible 
we should strictly and conscientiously avoid. If 
a minister cannot preach well after eating a 
hearty breakfast, he should eat sparingly. If a 
certain form of amusement dissipates spiritu- 
ality, we would better not indulge in it. We 

[99] 
LofC. 



Ci^e ^pptt €munt^ 



must seek always to be at our best, ready for 
whatever duty or service may be required of 
us. We should see to it that our life always 
yields fruits that are luscious and sweet, and 
whatever unfavorably affects the quality of our 
spirit, our disposition, or om* service, should be 
avoided. 

We live but one life, we pass but once through 
this world. We should live so that every step 
shall be a step onward and upward. We should 
strive to be victorious over every evil influence. 
We should seek to gather good and enrichment 
of character from every experience, making our 
progress ever from more to more. Wherever we 
go we should try to leave a blessing, something 
which will sweeten another life or start a new 
song or an impulse of cheer or helpfulness in 
another heart. Then our very memory when we 
are gone will be an abiding blessing in the world. 

*' /8fo, when I fall like some old tree, 

And subtle change makes mould of me. 
There let the earth show a fertile line 

Where perfect wild-flowers leap and shine. " 



[ 100 ] 



^tep$ on ti^e ^taiv 



[ 101 ] 



Speak a shade more kindly than the year "before ; 
Pray a little oftener ; loiie a little more ; 
Cling a little closer to the Father's love ; 
Thus life below shall liker grow to life above.'* 



{ 102 ] 



CHAPTER NINTH 

^tep^ on tl^e ^tait 





1 



HE years ought to be ascend- 
ing steps in the ladder of 
hfe. We should always be 
going upward. Heaven is 
high — a place of perfect 
beauty and holiness. When 
we begin to live truly we begin to climb tow- 
ard heaven. It looks far awav, so far that it 
seems to us we never can reach it. But we are 
sm^e that we can. We are not left to struggle 
up unhelped. There always are angels on the 
ladder, going up and coming down — going up 
on our behalf, to tell of our faith and our 
sti-uggles, and then coming down to bring us 
help out of heaven. We need not doubt, there- 
fore, that heaven is really within our reach and 
that through the help of God we shall some 
day enter its doors if only we continue faithful. 
But the way is not easy. It is a mountain 
climb. It is never easy to go up a steep moun- 

[ 103 ] 



Ci^e appet Cuttentjs 



tain. This mountain is very high. No matter 
how long we have been on the way, nor how 
far we have gone, heaven still keeps far above 
us. The saintliest people we know tell us that 
they have not yet attained, but are still press- 
ing on toward the goal. A ladder does not 
suggest rapid going up, but it does suggest 
patient, continuous ascending. True living is 
always progressive. The experiences are vari- 
able, but persistent faith and courage ever 
conquer circumstances, and make the hardest 
conditions yield contentment and hope, so that 
the feet are ever climbing higher. 
The years set their mileposts on the way, and it 
would be a pity if any one of these should fail to 
mark some gain, some advance. It is not enough 
to have the figures grow which register the 
years. Getting older is not necessarily getting 
better. Moving onward is not always moving 
upward. Nor is the doing of a great deal of 
work in a year a proof that we are making the 
truest use of our time — there are those who 
are always busy and yet never accomplish any- 
thing that lasts. Nor is the piling up of posses- 

[ 104 ] 



^ttv$ on tl^e ^tai'r 



sions a sure indication that one is really grow- 
ing. Men too often have buried their manhood 
away in their accumulations of wealth. 
The true upward climbing which the years 
should mark must be in the life itself, not in 
its condition and circumstances, nor in any of 
its accessories. What a man is is the test of 
his living, not what he does nor what he has. 
There must be a growth in mental qualities 
and resources. Not to have learned anything 
new in a year, not to be any wiser, not to be 
able to think more clearly, does not show a 
worthy use of time and opportunities. There 
must be a growth also in heart qualities. Time 
and its experiences should make us gentler, 
kindlier, less selfish, more thoughtful, more 
considerate of others, with truer sympathy, 
and larger ability for helpfulness. In the full 
life there must also be a spiritual growth. The 
peace of God must rule in it more and more 
deeply. Self must have less and less place and 
power in the directing of the life, and Christ 
must hold increasing sway. Love''s lessons must 
be better and better learned. 

[ 105 ] 



Ci^e ^pptt Currents 



Many lives are hurt by the experiences through 
which they pass. They have losses, disappoint- 
ments, sorrows, and, perhaps, are called to en- 
dure wrongs, and instead of coming through all 
victoriously, they yield and become discour- 
aged and embittered. One who lives truly, how- 
ever, is unhurt by even the most disheartening 
circumstances. He meets them with cheerfulness 
and confidence. Robert Louis Stevenson is a 
recent example of such victoriousness. It has 
been said of him : " Rarely has been witnessed 
a manlier struggle than that made by this ex- 
quisite writer and lovable man, who fought 
life-long disease and weakness for the sake of 
others, and who remained sunny and cheerful 
to the end. Into his writings crept no note of 
discouragement, no embittered tone, though 
often the words were penned upon a sick bed. 
He believed in happiness, not so much for per- 
sonal pleasure, as to create a circle of kindly 
influence round about him." In the following 
lines Stevenson clearly indicates the task he 
had set for himself in this direction : 



[ 106] 



^tepjS on ti^e ^tait 



If I have faltered more or less 
In my great task of happiness ; 
If I have moved among my race 
And shown no glorious morning face ; 
If beams from happy human eyes 
Have moved, me not ; if morning skies. 
Books, and my food ^ and summer rain, 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain — 
Lord, thy fuost pointed pleasure take, 
And stab my spirit broad awake. 

We date our letters, " In the year of our 
Lord/' There is something very inspiring in 
this designation. The years are Christ's, not 
ours. He gives them to us that on each of their 
pages we may write something worth while, a 
word or two which shall make the world richer 
and better, something of which we shall not be 
ashamed when the books are opened at the end 
of time. It is not enough that we do not blot 
the pages with records of gross sins ; we should 
fill them also with the story of noble and 
beautiful things. Every day should be rich in 
ministries of good. 

** Count that day poorly spent wherein 
You were not all you might have been.** 

[ 107 ] 



Ci^e ^pptt €nnmt^ 



Birthdays are good times for new beginnings. 
Birthdays are not different from other days in 
their external aspect. The sun rises no earlier, 
lingers no later, and shines no more brightly. 
The sky is no bluer, and the air is no purer. 
The birds sing no more sweetly, and the flowers 
are no lovelier. Tasks are no easier, burdens 
are no lighter, and paths are no smoother. 
Yet there is a sense in which a birthday is dif- 
ferent from all other days. It is a milestone 
recording another station of progress in the life, 
and no thoughtful person can pass it without 
pausing a moment for a look backward and 
then forward. The event is brightened also by 
the tokens of love and friendship which it 
brings, for there are few in these good days 
whose hearts are not warmed by reminders of 
interest and affection from their friends on 
their birthdays. Thus the days are made to 
stand out among the days of the year with a 
brightness all their own. 

It is not enough, however, to have a birthday 
made happy by the congratulations of friends, 
by tokens of affection, by letters filled with 

[ 108 ] 



^ttp^ on ti^e ^tait 



good wishes. It should be marked also among 
the days by some uplift, some new beginning, 
some victory over temptation or fault, some 
fresh gift from heaven. No to-morrow should 
be just like to-day, no better, no more beauti- 
ful, no fuller of helpfulness. But every birthday 
should mark a special advance. We should 
never be content to live any year just as we 
lived the one that is gone. Contentment is a 
Christian grace, but contentment does not 
mean satisfaction. We are never to be restless 
— restlessness is a mark of weakness — but we 
can have perfect poise and the blessing of 
Christ's peace, and yet be eagerly pressing on 
all the while to new attainments and new 
achievements. 

We should mark our birthdays by a clearing 
away of whatever is out of date and no longer 
of use in our life, and especially of what- 
ever cumbers or hinders us, whatever impedes 
our progress. As we grow older there are many 
things which we should leave behind. When 
we become men we should put away childish 
things, but some men never do. They always 

[ 109 ] 



Ci^e appet Cwtrentjs 



remain childish. Childhkeness is very beautiful 
— it is commended by the Master as the very 
ideal of Christian life and character; but 
childishness is unbeautiful and unlovely, and 
should be left behind as we pass on. Then, we 
are continually coming to the end of things 
which may have been important in their time, 
but we have outlived their necessity. A birthday 
is a good time to get clear of all these worn- 
out, superseded things. We should move out of 
the old house, leaving in the garrets and lum- 
ber-rooms the things we need no more, and 
making a new home for our souls with only fit 
and beautiful things in it. 

A birthday should be a time also for taking 
fresh hold of life. The tendency is to live in 
routine, and routine is likely to be fatal to zest 
and enthusiasm. We easily lose sight of our 
ideals and drift imperceptibly into common- 
place living. We need to be waked up now and 
then to a fresh consciousness of the meaning of 
life. One of the perils of comfortable living is 
the falling into easy ways. We forget that the 
easy path does not slope upward, that worthy 

[ 110 ] 



^tep0 on ti^e ^ta(r 



things can be reached only by chmbing, and 
that the true way is not only steep but oft- 
times craggy. The really noble and worthy 
things in life can be attained only at the cost 
of toil and struggle. Not heaven alone, but 
whatever belongs to the kingdom of heaven, 
must be won on the battlefields of life. 
Yet the revealing of this fact that the prizes 
of life cannot be got easily should never daunt 
any one. Indeed, a large part of the value and 
blessing in any achievement or attainment lies 
in what it costs. We grow most under burdens. 
We get strength in struggle. We learn our 
best lessons in suffering. The little money we 
are paid for our toil is not the best part of the 
reward — the best is what the toil does in us in 
new experience, in wisdom, in patience, in self- 
conquest. 

But, whatever the cost of life's gains, we should 
be ready to pay it in full. We need not trouble 
ourselves greatly either about earthly position 
or about our largeness in men's eyes ; it is in- 
finitely more important that we make sure of 
growing in the things that belong to true man- 

[ 111 ] 



Ci^e appet €nnmt^ 



hood. A distinguished man said, " If I had a 
son, I should tell him many times a day to 
make himself as big a man on the inside as 
possible.'''' That should ever be our aim, and on 
each new birthday this vision of worthy life 
should be set freshly before us. 
This ideal concerns two things — our own 
growth in whatsoever things are lovely and 
true, and our work on the lives of others. One 
writes, " To be at once strong and gentle, true 
and kind, to be braver to-day than yesterday, 
swifter to respond to earth^s music, slower to 
notice its discords, to have eye and hand grow- 
ing ever quicker to note and more ready to aid 
the need around us, to have the voice take a 
cheerier tone day by day, and the eyes a quicker 
light, because in our souls we believe that 

* God^s in his heaven: 
Airs right witJi the world ' — 

this is to be growing in grace. What higher 
ideal of life can we have than that of making a 
little brighter, sweeter, stronger, a little better 
or happier in some way, every life that touches 

[ 112] 



^tepjs on ti^e ^taiv 



our own ? Whether we do it by sermon or 
song, by merry laugh or sympathetic tear, by 
substantial aid, or ' trifles light as air," matters 
not at all so long as it is done for Christ's dear 
sake and the bringing nearer of his kingdom.'' 



r 113 ] 



dSietttng f elp from ptoplt 



[ 115] 



Such a heart Pd hear in my bosom 

That^ threading the crowded street^ 
My face should shed joy unlooked for 

On every poor soul I meet ; 
And such wisdjom should crown my forehead 

That^ coming where councils stcmdt 
I should carry the thoughts of justice 

And stablish the weal of the land, 

— Julia Ward Howb. 



I 116] 



CHAPTER TENTH 

(letting i^elp from f^eople 




E receive help in our Chris- 
tian hves through many 
channels. But more, per- 
haps, than we are aware of, 
does God use other human 
hearts and lives as his agents 
in blessing and helping us. Every true Chi'is- 
tian is sent among men to be an interpreter of 
Christ. No one can see Christ in his invisible 
glory, and therefore we who know him and 
love him, and in whom he dwells, are to be his 
interpreters. Every faithful follower of the 
Master is the bearer of blessings from the 
great fountain of infinite life and love. In 
every pure, true, worthy friend whom God gives 
to us, he sends to us a little measure of his own 
love and grace. One wiites, in recognition of a 
new blessing God has sent, — 

Qod never loved me in so sweet a way before ; 
'Tis he alone who can such blessings send; 
[ 117 ] 



Ci^e ^ppn €munt^ 



And when his love would new expression find. 
He brought thee to me, and said, ''Behold a 
friend!'' 

It would add much to the sacredness of our 
friendships if we thought of them in this way — 
that in them God is mercifully sending us new 
gifts of his grace. If we always had this lofty 
conception of the ministry of friendship, it 
would make us ever reverent and thoughtful as 
we touch the lives of others, ever careful to be 
God's messenger indeed to every one, and to 
wait at his feet for the gift which he would 
send by us to our friend. 

The Christian thought of life in all its rela- 
tions is that of service and helpfulness. We 
should always be a means of grace to others. 
No one should ever receive from us any influ- 
ence that would cause hurt or mamng, or that 
would make it harder to live right or easier to 
do wrong. On the other hand, every one who 
touches us should get from us some good, some 
encouragement, some cheer, some incitement to 
righteousness, some fresh inspiration toward 
nobleness, some strengthening of the pui-pose 

[ 118] 



(letting f elp from ptoplt 



to live nobly, some quickening of life. Very 
fitting for daily use is the prayer, 

May every soul that touches mine- 
Be it the slightest contact — get therefrom some 

goody 
Some little grace, one kindly thought, 
One inspiration yet unfelt, one hit of courage 
For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith 
To brave the thickening ills of life, 
One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering 

mist, 
To make this life more worth while, 
And heaven a surer heritage. 

Wherever love is, love that is kindled at the 
heaii: of God, there is always the desire to serve. 
This may not be the ordinary conception. 
When vfQ wish for friends, it is possible that 
we have in mind those who shall be friends to 
us, bringing into our lives profit, help, happi- 
ness, enjoyment, comfort. But Christian love 
is not an earthborn passion, — it has its source 
in Jesus Christ ; it is the love of God shed 
abroad in human hearts, and this love '' seek- 
eth not its own." The Christian conception is 

[ "9 J 



Ci^e Oppet Curtentjs 



not that of having a friend but of being a 
friend ; not of being ministered unto, but of 
ministering. 

If this divine affection be in us we shall desire 
to be a blessing to every one we meet, to im- 
part to him some good. If this meaning of 
Christian love be realized, even imperfectly, it 
will make the followers of Christ mutually and 
reciprocally helpful to each other. There are 
many ways in which Christians should minister 
to each other's happiness and good. 
There is help in fellowship. When two walk 
together one strengthens the other. One log 
will not burn alone, but when two or more are 
laid together one kindles the other and the 
flame grows hot. Christian life cannot reach its 
best in solitude. Jesus had a reason for sending 
out his disciples two and two. One helped the 
other in many ways. If one was discouraged 
the other would hearten him. If one was grow- 
ing indifferent the other would quicken his 
love. Then the value of their work was more 
than doubled, for the strength and skill of one 
would supplement the weakness and inadequacy 

[ 120 ] 



of the other. In prayer two are better than 
one, for faith inspires faith and fervency kindles 
fervency. 

Example also has its value. We see one person 
living sweetly, beautifully, victoriously, and 
there arises in us a desire to live as he does. 
There is an influence of life upon life which is 
pervasive and resistless. 

" Unshape7i, hardened, thrown away^ 
A worthless piece of potter^ s clay. 
Beside it grew a rose ; it died, 
Yet not in vain, for ere the end 
Its fragrance with the clay did blend. 
Thus into darkened lives we may 
Plant love, and hope^s effulgent ray.^* 

There is an education of great value which re- 
sults jfrom the contact of life with life. Students 
often get more from each other and from their 
personal relations with their teachers than they 
get from books. It is so in all association. 

•* Iron sharpeneth iron ; 
So a man sharpeneth the countenance of his 
friend, ' ' 

[ 121 ] 



Ci^e apper Currentjsi 



Thus people are means of grace to us. It used 
to be thought that in order to be holy one 
must flee away from the world, even from 
friends, and live alone. But this was a mistaken 
thought of life. We grow best among people. 
Even the keen, sharp contacts which bruise 
and hurt have their part in making men of us. 
There are lessons we never could learn save in 
the midst of people, tied up in human fellow- 
ships. We could not leam patience if we had 
not calls for exercising patience in our daily 
associations. We should never grow to be 
thoughtful, if the duty were not set for us, 
with abundant opportunity for practice, in our 
home, in our friendships, in our comradeship with 
others. Some of us could never have been cured 
of our insane self-conceit if we had not been 
hurled into the dust and trampled upon. We 
should never become sympathetic, kindly, gentle, 
if there were nothing in our associations to call 
out and exercise these qualities in us. Some- 
times we pity certain persons, because in their 
natural human relationships they are required to 
practice self-denial, to carry heavy burdens, to 

[ 122 ] 



(Ketting ^tlp ft:om people 

make gi*eat sacrifices, to endure much suffering. 
But it is in just such experiences that they 
gi-ow. The exacting requirements of their life 
are means of grace, and in meeting them they 
become more and more hke Christ. 
There are some whose lives are so set apart 
for ministry to others and so filled with calls 
for service that they seem to have no oppor- 
timity to be ministered to by others. They are 
always giving and never receiving. They spend 
their days in helping others, but no one helps 
them. They cany the bui'dens of many, but no 
one comes to carry their bui'den. They are 
comforters of the soitow of all their friends, but 
in their own giief no one ministers consolation to 
them. They share their bread with the hungry, 
but when they are hungry no man gives unto 
them. Yet these find their help in the very 
serving to which they devote their lives. In 
feeding others, they are fed. In comforting 
others, they are comforted. In blessing others 
they are blessed. It matters not that no others 
come to serve them — they are served in their 
service. 

[ 123 ] 



Cl^e tixpvn Cuttent0 



* * A poor man saved by thee shall make thee rich, 
A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong. 
Thou Shalt thyself be served by every lease 
Of service thou hast rendered, ' ' 

Association with other Christians has its im- 
measurable help in time of need. This is one of 
the benefits of ideal church membership. The 
strong help the weak. Much has been said of 
the way the poor help each other. The experi- 
enced hold the lamp for the feet that are new 
on tangled paths. But even help in trouble is 
not the best that love has to give. Better far is 
the help which it may give continually in the 
way of inspiration and in asking for the best 
that is in us. The church does the most for its 
young people when it holds up a lofty standard 
of excellence in character and urges them to 
attain it ; when it sets large tasks for them and 
expects these tasks to be achieved. We should 
welcome all such demands upon us, for they 
are divine calls, bidding us to be worthy of 
the vocation wherewith we are called. Here is 
a prayer which every yoimg person may fitly 
make his own : — 

[ 124 ] 



(letting f elp from ptoplt 

" Send some one. Lord, to love the best that is 
in me, and to accept nothing less from me ; to 
touch me with the searching tenderness of the 
passion for the ideal ; to demand everything 
fi'om me for my own sake ; to give me so much 
that I cannot think of myself, and to ask so 
much that I can keep nothing back ; to console 
me by making me strong before sorrow comes ; 
to help me so to live that, while I part with 
many things by the way, I lose nothing of the 
gift of hfe/' 



[ 125 j 



(f 



^Wi too, ^i^all i^aiEjjs atoar " 



[ 127 ] 



Art thou in misery^ brother f This I say^ 
Be comforted. Thy grief shall pass away. 
Art thou elated ? Ah ! Be not too gay : 
Temper thy joy. This^ too^ shall pass away. 
Art thou in danger ? Still let reason sway, 
And cling to hope. This, too, shall pass away. 

— Paul Hamilton Haynb. 



[ 128 ] 



CHAPTER ELEVENTH 

'"'^m, too, ^i^all pa^^ atoat" 




E meet life's experiences 
wisely only when we keep 
in mind their transientness. 
Whatever they may be, 
painful or pleasant, they 
will soon pass away. We 



need not be too greatly troubled by that which 
is hard, for relief will soon come. We should 
not be too much elated by prosperity, for it 
will not last always. 

A Christian woman who is constantly engaged 
in some form of activity was telling of the way 
she learned a valuable lesson. She was to meet 
a friend at a railway station, and the two were 
to go together to an important meeting. They 
were a few seconds late — they saw the train on 
which they intended to go to their engagement 
moving away. The first woman was gi^eatly 
annoyed and spoke to the other of her deep 
regret that they had missed the train. The 

[ 129 ] 



Ci^e epper currents 



other was quiet and undisturbed, and answered, 
" Oh, this will soon pass away.'*' The good 
woman tried to show her friend how very un- 
fortunate it was that they were late, but to all 
the reasons given why they should be vexed 
and worried her only answer was, " This, too, 
will pass away.''' She persisted in refusing to 
be disturbed, finding her refuge always in the 
thought that whatever was vexing or annoying 
would soon be gone. 

The woman then told her friend the story of a 
minister who had over his study door the sen- 
tence, " This, too, shall pass away.''*' When he 
had a caller whose conversation was tiresome, or 
whose en'and was too unimportant for the time 
it was occupying, he consoled himself and re- 
strained his impatience by the reflection, " This, 
too, shall pass away."*' The caller would not 
stay always. When the minister came in weary 
after an exhausting service, or ft'om some piece 
of hard work, and was disposed to give way to 
the feeling, he rallied himself to cheerfulness 
by remembering that he needed only a nighfs 
rest to renew his energies, that by to-morrow 

[ 130 ] 



''m^i^, too, ^i^all pa^^ at»ai?" 

the weariness would be gone. When something 
unpleasant had happened in the congregation, 
and he was disposed to be discoui'aged or to 
act disagreeably, he overcame the tendency by 
looking at his motto which reminded him that 
this, too, should pass, and thus preserved his 
sweetness of spirit. 

There is in the little lesson taught by this 
good woman a secret of quiet and tranquil life 
which it would be well for all of us to learn. 
It is not a mere fancy, either, a pleasant fiction, 
that the things which fret us are of only tran- 
sient stay. The most unpleasant experiences 
have but brief duration. To-day they disturb 
us and make us miserable, but when we awake 
to-morrow they will have gone and we shall 
almost have forgotten them. 
There is a story of an eastern king who sought 
long in vain for some philosophy of life which 
would give him quietness and peace amid all 
changes of condition and circumstances. His 
little child proved wiser than all his famous 
counsellors. She gave him a ring in which were 
cut in Arabic the words, " This, too, shall pass 

[131] 



Ci^e ^ppet €mvmt^ 



away.''' The king never forgot the lesson, and 
his hfe was wondrously helped by it. This story 
has been widely told and has given to many a 
secret of endurance which has enabled them to 
keep hopeful and strong through great trials 
and severe struggles. 

The more we think of the saying the more 
widely does it seem to apply to the things that 
are apt to give us anxiety or to dismay or dis- 
turb us. All of these things will soon pass away. 
We have it in the Scripture teaching : 

^ ' For his anger is but for a moment ; 
His favor is for a life-time : 
Weeping may tarry for the nighty 
But joy Gometh in the morning.'*'' 

Sorrow passes quickly ; joy lasts forever. The 
cloud quickly flies from the heavens ; the sun 
shines on undimmed. There are only a few 
dark days in a year and they are soon forgotten 
in the long seasons of sunshine and blue sky. 
Sickness is painful, but it, too, soon passes. 
Most of our trials are short-lived. They make 
us wretched for a day, but when we have slept 
we wake up to find them gone. The first bitter- 

[ 132 ] 



''^W^ too, ^i^all |aaj80 atuat** 

ness of soiTOw passes as the comforts of divine 
love come with their heavenly light. St. Paul 
speaks of our light affliction which is but for a 
moment, in contrast with the eternal weight of 
glory which will follow. Zophar puts among 
the promises of blessing this : 

Thou Shalt forget thy misery, 

Thou Shalt remember it as waters that are passed 
away, 

And thy life shall he clearer than the noonday : 

Though there be darkness, it shall be as the morn- 
ing. 

There are but a few days of sadness in most 
lives, with many more joy-days. Then most of 
our griefs and pains are short-lived. If we 
would remember this, telling ourselves in every 
time of suffering, " This, too, shall pass away,'** 
it would be easier to bear the pain or endure 
the hardness. One pm-pose of nights is to end 
days, that we may begin altogether in the new 
every morning. 

King Hassam, well beloved, was wont to say, 
When aught went wrong, or any labor failed^ 

** To-morrow, friends, will be another day ! " 
And in that faith he slept ^ and so prevailed, 
[ 133 ] 



Ci^e (iXppn Currents 



Long live his proverb ! While the world shall roll 
To-morrow' s fresh shall rise from out the nighty 

And new-haptize the indomitable soul 
With courage for its never-ending Jight. 

No one, I say, is conquered till he yields ; 

And yield he need not while, like mist from 
glass, 
God wipes the stain of life's old battlefields 

From every morning that he brings to pass. 

New day, new hope, new courage ! Let this be, 
soul, thy cheerful creed. What's yesterday. 

With all its shards and wrack and grief to thee f 
Forget it, then — here lies the victor's way ! 

Much of the discomfort of our Kves is caused 
by people. Ofttimes they are annoying. They 
are not thoughtful or considerate. They do not 
regard our wishes. They have no patience with 
our idiosyncrasies. They do not show us proper 
respect. They are not always gentle with us. 
They irritate us by ways that are distasteful 
to us. Some of us find it a most serious matter 
to get along with people. It would help us, 
however, in our task of keeping sweet and 
loving, if we would always recall the fact, in 

[ 134 ] 



''^Wy too, ^i^all pa^^ atuat" 

any experience which puts our patience and 
good nature to sore test, that this, too, shall 
pass away. 

Duty is ofttimes hard. It seems to us that it 
is altogether beyond our strength. In every 
earnest and useful life there are times when 
the ordinary stint of work is greatly increased. 
The burden becomes so heavy that it seems to 
us we cannot bear it. Here again there is 
wondrous inspiration in the recollection that 
we shall soon find relief from the unwonted 
pressure. "This, too, shall pass away." We 
need to keep up the tension only a little while 
longer. Anybody can carry a heavy load for a 
mile. Anybody can go on, however hard the 
way, for an hour. When we know that soon 
our tasks shall be lightened and our duty be 
no longer too great for our strength, we 
can get along the little way we still have to 
go. 

The truth of the transientness of all earthly 
things should also temper our human joys and 
save us from being too deeply absorbed in 
them. This is true of pure human affections. 

[ 135 ] 



Cl^e ^vvtt €uvunt^ 



God wants us to cherish them. But we are 
never to forget that there is a sense in which 
these, too, shall pass away. We cannot keep our 
loved ones ever by our side. There is a way, 
however, in which we may lift these human 
relations out of the transient, the evanescent, 
so that they shall be resumed in that world 
where there is no change, where no flow- 
ers fade, where nothing beautiful and good 
ever shall pass away. But in a human and 
earthly sense we should remember, even of the 
tenderest affection and the sweetest joy, " This, 
too, shall pass away.'' 

" Do rays of laurel-led glory round thee play f 
Kinglike art thou f This, too, shall pass away, ' ' 

But the lesson may not end here. The message 
that all things are fleeting is not a gospel. It 
would leave no place to stand upon when the 
visible universe shall crumble to nothing. It 
leaves us nothing to keep forever when earth's 
treasures all shall perish. Is there then nothing 
that abides, that will not pass away ? Yes, 
there is. 

[ 136] 



'' %\^% too, ^i^all p^m atoat " 

*' Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day : 
Earth's Joys grow dim, its glories pass away ; 
Change and decay in all around I see ; 
thou, who changest not, abide with me." 

If we have God, our hands never can be empty. 
God is eternal, and those who have their home 
in the castle of his love have an imperishable 
hope. When all earthly things pass away, as 
they will do, they will be safe in the house not 
made with hands, which shall abide forever. If 
we are wise we will not be content with the 
things that are seen, which are transient, but 
will live for the things which are unseen, which 
are eternal. 

" What country is that which I see beyond the 
high mountains ? " asked a dying child of its 
mother. " There are no mountains, my child. 
You are with your mother in this room,"" the 
mother replied. Again, after a moment, the 
child whispered, " O mother, I see a beautiful 
country, and children are beckoning me to 
come to them. But there are high mountains 
between us, too high for me to climb. Who 
will carry me over ? " 

[ 137 ] 



Ci^e ^vptv €mvmt^ 



There could be only silence on the mother'^s 
lips. In a little while, the child, stretching out 
his white, wasted hands, whispered, " Mother, 
the Strong Man has come to carry me over.'''' 
And the boy was gone — carried over in the 
arms of the Good Shepherd. 



[ 138 ] 



Ci^oojSfng to Do l^arD Ci^tngjs 



[ 139 ] 



Better to stem with heart and hand 
The roaring tide of life^ than lie 
Unmindful, on its flowing strand^ 
Of God's occasions drifting by. 

Better with naked nerve to hear 
The needles of this goading air^ 
That in fhe lap of sensual ease forego 
The Godlike power to do^ the Godlike aim to know. 

— Whittieb. 



[ 140 ] 



CHAPTER TWELFTH 

Cl^oojstng to no ^atD Cl^tnsjS 




HE man who seeks easy 
things will never make much 
of his life. One who is afraid 
of hard work will never 
achieve anything worth 
while. In an art gallery, 
before a great painting, a young artist said to 
Ruskin, ^* Ah ! If I could put such a dream on 
canvas ! '' " Dream on canvas ! " growled the 
stern old critic. " It will take ten thousand 
touches of the brush on the canvas to put yoiu* 
dream there.'' No doubt many beautiful dreams 
die in the brains and hearts of artists, for want 
of energy to make them realities. On the tomb 
of Joseph II, of Austria, in the royal cemetery 
at Vienna, is this pitiable epitaph, prepared by 
direction of the king himself. " Here lies a 
monarch who, with the best intentions, never 
earned out a single plan." 
There are too many people who try to shirk 

[ 141 1 



Ci^e ^pptv Currents 



the hard things. They want to get along as 
easily as possible. They have ambition of a cer- 
tain sort, but it is ambition to have the victory 
without the battle, to get the gold without 
digging for it. They would like to be learned 
and wise, but they do not care to toil in study 
and " burn the midnight oil,**** as they must do 
if they would realize their desire. They wish to 
have plenty of money, that they may live com- 
fortably, even luxuriously, but they hope to 
get it from some generous relative as an in- 
heritance, or to have some wealthy person en- 
dow them. They have no thought of working 
hard year after year, toiling and saving as 
other people have to do, to earn for themselves, 
with their own hands, the fortune of their 
dreams. They have a certain longing to be 
noble and good, with a character that will 
command respect and confidence, but they 
have not the spirit of self-denial and of earnest 
moral purpose which alone can produce such a 
character. 

They want to be good and to grow into worthy 
manhood, but lack that passionate earnestness 

f 142 ] 



Ci^oojSing to Do f at^ti Ci^infijj 

which alone will yield vigorous piety and 
manly virtue and the heroic qualities of true 
Christlikeness. Mere holy dreaming will yield 
nothing better than spiritual effeminacy. No 
religion is worthy which does not seek to at- 
tain the best things, and the best can be won 
only by the bravest struggle and the most per- 
sistent striving. 

In all departments of life this indolent, easy- 
going way of getting on is working its mischief. 
There is much of it in school or college. Then it 
abounds in the trades and professions. A success- 
ful business man says that the chief reason why 
so many young men never get advancement nor 
make anything worth while of their lives is the 
want of thoroughness. They do only what is 
easy, and never grapple with anything that is 
hard. Consequently, they do not fit themselves 
for any but the easiest places, and no position 
of importance ever can be easily filled. Indo- 
lence is the bane of countless lives. The ca- 
pacities in them are never developed for want 
of energy. They do not rise because they have 
not the courage and persistence to climb. 

[ 143 ] 



Ci^e Bpvtt €unmt^ 



A mark of a noble nature is its desire to do 
hard things. Easy things do not satisfy it. It is 
happiest when it is wresthng with some task 
which requires it to do its best. Young people 
are fortunate when they are required to do 
things which it seems to them they cannot do. 
It is under such pressure that they grow into 
their best. 

One is usually thought to be particularly 
favored who misses difficult experiences and the 
enduring of hardships in youth. " Until I was 
fourteen years old," said a lady in middle life, 
"I never had a disappointment of any kind.*" It 
was regarded as remarkably fortunate that her 
early life had been so easy, so free from anxiety 
or burden. But those who knew the woman 
well saw in this very fact the secret of much in 
her life that was not beautiful. Her indulged 
and petted girlhood was not the best prepara- 
tion for womanhood. She had not learned to 
endure, to submit to things that are hard. 
She had not grown strong, nor had she acquired 
self-discipline. Even in her mature womanhood 
she was only a spoiled child who chafed when 

[ 144 ] 



ci^ooising to no ^ata Ci^(na?{ 

things did not go to please her. It is not so 
easy, but it is better, if young people have dis- 
appointments, burdens, and responsibilities and 
do not always have their own way. Thus they 
will be trained to self-restraint, and taught to 
submit their wills to God's. 
Of coui'se, not always do persons get the 
lessons and the character they should get out 
of the hard things of earlier years. Some are not 
good learners in life's school. Some grow bitter 
in disappointment and lose the sweetness out 
of their lives when they have to endure trial. 
But in all that is hard there is the possibility 
of blessing, and the problem of living is to find 
it — in all struggle, care, and endurance to 
gather new nobleness and grace. 

** Out of all stress and strife, 
Out of all disappointments, pain, 
What deathless profit shall I gain f 
If sorrow cometh, shall it slay f 
Or shall I bear a song away f 
When wave and tide against me lift, 
Shall I still cleave my course, or drift f 
Soul ! nerve thyself to such as these 
Beep problems, sacred destinies ! 
[ 145 ] 



Ci^e Opper €mnnt^ 



It matters not what fate may give ; 
The best is thine — to nobly live. ' ' 

It is perilous presumption to rush into the 
battle when we have no business in it, when it 
is not our battle. Yet, on the other hand, we 
are not to be afraid of any struggle or tempta- 
tion when it lies in the way of our duty. It is 
cowardly to shrink from the battle when we 
are called into it. When God leads us he means 
to help us. No task which he assigns will ever 
prove too hard for us if we do our best in 
Christ's name. When we face a new condition 
for which it seems to us we have neither 
strength nor skill, the only question is, " Is it 
our duty ? '"^ If so, there is no doubt as to what 
we should do, nor need we have any fear of 
failure. Hard things become easy when we 
meet them with faith and courage. 
Some people have a habit of skipping the hard 
things. It begins in childhood in school. The 
easy lessons are learned because they require 
no great effort, but when a hard one comes in 
the course, it is given up after a half-hearted 
trial. The habit thus allowed to begin in school 

[ 146 ] 



Ci^ooisfna to Do f arD Ci^insjsi 

work easily finds its way into all the life. The 
boy does the same thing on the playground. 
When the game requires no special exertion, he 
goes through it in a creditable enough way. 
But when it is hotly contested, and when only 
by intense struggle can the victory be won, he 
drops out. He does not have the courage or 
the persistence to make an intense effort. The 
girl who lets her school lessons master her, 
who leaves the hard problems unsolved and 
goes on, soon begins to allow other hard things 
to master her. The home tasks that are disa- 
greeable or that would require unusual effort 
she leaves unattempted. It is not long until the 
habit of doing only the easy things and skipping 
whatever is hard pervades all the life. The re- 
sult is that nothing brave or noble is ever ac- 
complished, that the person never rises to any- 
thing above the commonplace. 
In many ways does this habit of failing at hard 
things hurt the life. These difficult things are 
put in our way, not to stop us in our course, 
but to call out our strength and develop our 
energy. If we never had any but easy things to 

[ 147 ] 



Ci^e epper Currents 



do, things requiring no effort, we should never 
get strong. If we timidly give up whenever we 
come to something that is hard, we shall never 
get beyond the attainments of childhood. If we 
decline the effort, and weakly say we are not 
able to make it, we have lost our chance of ac- 
quiring a new measure of power. 
We should not forget that no one ever did any- 
thing of great value to others without cost. A 
quaint old proverb says, " One cannot have 
omelet without breaking eggs.**' If we would do 
anything really worth while that will be a 
blessing in the world, we must put into it not 
merely easy efforts, languid sympathies, con- 
ventional good wishes, and courtesies that cost 
nothing, — we must put into it thought, time, 
patience, self-denial, sleepless nights, exhaust- 
ing toil. There is a legend of an artist who had 
found the secret of a wonderful red which no 
other artist could imitate. The secret of his 
color died with him. But after his death an old 
wound was discovered over his heart. This re- 
vealed the source of the matchless hue in his 

[148] 



Ci^oojjing to Do i^atD Cl^tnQjsi 

pictures. The legend teaches that no gi-eat 
achievement can be made, no lofty attainment 
reached, nothing of much value to the world 
done, save at the cost of hearfs blood. 



[ 149 ] 



mum ^W ^e l^aue 



[ 151 ] 



^^ As the mite the widow offered 

Brought a blessing sweet and rare 
And the inches of the miser 

Were not worth a pauper's prayer- 
So I smile when men mark failure 

O'er the life of any man ; 
For the acme of all greatness 

Is to do the lest we can.'' 



[ 152 ] 



CHAPTER THIRTEENTH 




HERE always are those who 
wi^ap their talent for service 
in the napkin of not- worth- 
while. They feel that they 
could not do much because 
their ability is so small, and 
therefore they do not try to do anything. They 
suppose that they are practising the much- 
praised virtue of humility, while really they 
are evading duty and responsibility, and thus 
incurring blame and guilt. 
The truth is, no one, however small his abili- 
ties, need live uselessly. God bestows no talents 
which he means to be wrapped up in napkins 
of any kind. Of course we cannot give what we 
have not. One who has no money cannot give 
money aid to others who need. One who lacks 
strength cannot help those who are weak. One 
who does not know the way cannot be guide to 
others in difficult or intricate paths. We must 

[ 153 ] 



Ci^e ^vvtv €mvmt^ 



learn before we can teach. We must under- 
stand the way of salvation before we can make 
the way plain for our friends. If we have not 
learned to sympathize, we cannot give sympa- 
thy to those who are in trouble. If we have 
had no experience of sorrow and of divine com- 
fortj we cannot give comfort to those who are 
in sorrow. We cannot show others the love of 
God if we have not received that love into our 
own hearts. The teacher cannot tell his scholars 
more about the Christian life than he knows 
himself. The preacher cannot lead his people 
farther in the ways of Christ than his own feet 
have gone. 

But we should give always what we have. We 
are never to say, " There is no use in my giv- 
ing, for I have so little. It can do no one any 
good.**"* We have nothing to do with the matter 
of larger or smaller. We are responsible only 
for what we have. If it is but one little talent, 
one little talent is all we shall have to answer 
for. But we must answer for that, and if we fail 
to use it, we shall not only lose it in the end, 
but also shall incur the penalty of uselessness. 

[ 154 ] 



mum ^W ^^ f a^^ 

Nor do we know what is really small in its 
capacity for usefulness or its possibilities of 
gi-owth. Talents that are used are multiphed 
by the using. By giving what we have to-day 
we shall have more to give to-morrow. Many 
of those who have blessed the world most richly 
had but httle at first. They did what they 
could, however, and as they lived and served, 
their capacity for living and serving increased, 
until at length they reached countless thousands 
with the benediction of their influence. 
What we have we should give, we are bound to 
give. We should never withhold it. It is not 
ours to keep only for ourselves — God gives 
nothing for miserly hoarding or for selfish use. 
Always we are his stewards, and are blessed 
ourselves in order that we may be a blessing to 
others. This is true of every good thing we 
receive. It ceases to be a good thing to us if 
we refuse to share it or to pass it on. This is 
true of our common, earthly blessings. The 
great law of love for our neighbor requires us 
to hold all we have at the call of God for 
human need. The love of God, which is given 

[ 155 ] 



Ci^e ^vpzv €mvmt^ 



to us so freely and with such infinite lavish- 
ness, blesses us only when we too become lov- 
ing like God and love others as he loves us. 
The divine forgiveness can become ours only if 
we will pass it on, forgiving as we are forgiven. 
We can get God^s comfort in our sorrow only 
when we are ready to give it out again, com- 
forting others with the comfort wherewith we 
ourselves have been comforted of God. Of all 
the great gifts and blessings that God gra- 
ciously bestows upon us, not one is for our- 
selves alone. What we have we must give, 
otherwise we shall lose it. 

We are always in the midst of human needs to 
which we should minister. It may not seem 
that those about us need anything that we 
could give them. They appear happy, and per- 
haps they have more than we have to make 
them so. But we do not know what hunger 
there may be in their hearts, what hidden 
griefs they are carrying in the midst of the 
sunshine which pours all about them, what 
burdens they are bearing of which they speak 
no word. At least, we should be open-hearted 

[ 156] 



mum ^^at wz m^t 



and open-handed in our love toward all men, 
ready to serve them in any way we can, not 
knowing what their need may be this very 
moment. 

*' They might not need me — 
Yet they might — ; 
ril let my heart be 
Just in sight — 

* * A smile so small 
As mine, might he 
Precisely their 
Necessity, ' ' 

We are required only to give what we have, 
not what we have not. When we stand in the 
presence of a want which we cannot possibly 
meet, we need not vex ourselves because we 
cannot help. The thing we really cannot do is 
not our duty, but some other'^s. We must not 
conclude too quickly, however, in the face of 
any need, that we can do nothing to meet it. 
Perhaps what the person seems to require is 
not what he really needs. It may be that we 
have, even among our scant stores, that which 
will feed his hunger or relieve his distress bet- 

[ 157 ] 



Ci^e ^vvtt Currentjs 



ter than if we could give him what he requests 
of us. At the Beautiful Gate of the temple 
Peter could not give what the beggar asked, 
but he did not therefore pass on to his devo- 
tions, leaving the man unhelped. What he gave, 
too, was really far better for the beggar than 
the paltry thing the man, with his inadequate 
thought of his need, had asked for. 
Because we cannot give what our neighbor 
seems to need we are not therefore to give him 
nothing. The amount of money we have for 
charity is not the measure of our ability to 
help. Money is the poorest of all alms. A great 
deal of money-giving does irreparable hurt to 
those who receive it. It makes them less royal 
and noble in living. There is great harm done 
by indiscriminate charity, which fosters not 
manly self-reliance, but a weak and unmanly 
spirit of dependence. We do not help another 
wisely when we do for him the things he could 
have done for himself. If Peter had given 
money that day at the temple gate, he would 
only thus have enabled the lame man to live a 
little longer in his miserable and useless mendi- 

[ 158 ] 



mum ^W ^t i^aue 

cancy. He gave him a blessing, however, which 
made mendicancy no longer a necessity, since 
the man could now take his place among men 
and provide for himself. 

The way we can best help others is not by 
ministering merely to their infirmities and 
weaknesses, but by putting into them com^age 
and strength that they may take care of them- 
selves. We may not have money to give, but 
there are better alms than money. If we get a 
discouraged man to take heart again, and to 
set out bravely to fight his own battles and 
carry his own burdens, we have done him a far 
greater kindness than if we had fought his 
battles and carried his burdens for him. 
We should give then always whatever we have 
to give. It may be only a word of cheer ; but 
one of the most useful men in the world is the 
man who gives a word of encouragement to 
every one he meets. His life is a perpetual 
benediction. Wherever he goes flowers grow in 
the path behind him. He does not do anything 
great, anything that men talk about or that is 
mentioned in the newspapers, yet he makes 

[ 159 ] 



C^e &vptt €nnmt^ 



every one he meets a little braver, stronger, 
and happier, and that is worth while ; that is 
angel work. Helen Hunt Jackson wrote : 

If I can live 

To make some pale face brighter, and to give 

A second lustre to some tear-dimmed eye. 
Or e'en impart 
One throh of comfort to an aching heart 

Or cheer some wayworn soul in passing by ; 

If I can lend 

A strong hand to the fallen, or defend 

The right against a single envious strain, 
My life, though bare, 
Perhaps, of much that seemeth dear and fair 

To us on earth, will not have been in vain. 

The purest joy, 

Most near to heaven, far from eartNs alloy, 

Is bidding clouds give way to sun and shine, 
And Hwill be well 
If on that day of days the angels tell 

Of me: " ^he did her best for one of thine,'* ^ 

Henry Drummond says that we do not know 
what ripples of healing are set in motion when 
we simply smile on one another. The people 

[ 160 ] 



with the plainest, commonest abihties have yet 
something to give — let them give just what 
they have and it will in some way sweeten the 
woiWs bitterness, brighten its darkness, and 
put strength into its weakness. We need not 
worry over what we wish we could give but 
have not — that is not our duty ; that is help 
we are not responsible for. But if we would not 
disappoint God and fail in our responsibility, 
we must always give cheerfully what we have 
to give. 



[ 161 



Cl^e piini^ttv of ItnDnejs^ 



[ 163 ] 



" The memory of a kindly word 
For long gone hy^ 
The fragrance of a fading flower 
Sent lovingly^ 
• ••••• «• 

The note that only hears a verse 

From God's own word — 
Such tiny things we hardly count 

As ministry^ 
The givers deeming they have shown 

Scant synfipathy ; 
But when the heart is overwrought^ 

0, who can tell 
The power of such tiny things 

To make it well ! " 



[ 164 ] 



CHAPTER FOURTEENTH 

Cl^e piinimv of mtntinejSjs 




OTHING is more worth 
while than kindness. Noth- 
ing else in life is more 
beautiful in itself. Nothing 
else does more to brighten 
the world and sweeten other 
lives. Robert Louis Stevenson said in a letter 
to Edmund Mosse : " It is the history of our 
kindnesses that alone makes the world tolera- 
ble. If it were not for that, for the effect of 
kind words, kind looks, kind letters, multiply- 
ing, spreading, making one happy through 
another, and bringing forth benefits, some 
thirty, some fifty, some a thousandfold, I 
should be tempted to think our life a practical 
jest in the worst possible spirit." 
The man whose life lacks habitual kindliness 
may succeed splendidly in a worldly sense. He 
may win his way to high honor. He may 
gather millions of money. He may climb to a 

[ 165 ] 



Ci^e (Upper €mtmt^ 



conspicuous place among men. But he has 
missed that which alone gives glory to a life — 
the joy and blessing of being kind. There are 
men who are so intent on winning the race 
that they have neither eye nor heart nor hand 
for the human needs by the wayside. Here and 
there is one, however, who thinks more of the 
humanities than of the personal success that 
woos him forward, and who turns aside in his 
busiest hour to give help and cheer to those 
who need. 

There is always this difference in men. There 
are those who have only one purpose in life, the 
making of their own career. They fix their eye 
upon the goal and press toward it with indom- 
itable persistence, utterly unheeding the calls 
and appeals of human need which break upon 
their ears. They fail altogether in love's duty. 
They dwarf and make as dead in themselves 
the qualities which are divinest in their nature. 
Far nobler are those who, while earnest and 
diligent in business, yet let the law of love rule 
in their lives and are ever ready to forget them- 
selves and sacrifice their own personal interest 

[ 166] 



in order to do good to others. He who leaves 
love for others out of his Ufe-plan leaves God 
out too, for love is the first thing in Godlike- 
ness. 

When we speak of kindness we think not so 
much of large things as of the little things of 
thoughtfulness and gentleness which one may 
do along the way. There are persons who now 
and then do some great thing of which every- 
body speaks, but whose common days are empty 
of love's personal ministries. There are men 
who give large sums of money to found or 
endow institutions, but who have scarcely ever 
been known to do a kindly deed to a poor man 
or to one in trouble or need, and who fail alto- 
gether in love's sweet spirit in their own homes 
and among their own companions. Is it not 
better that we shall have a gentle heart which 
will prompt us to unbroken kindliness in word 
and deed, than that once in a great while we 
should do some conspicuous act of charity, 
living, meanwhile, in all oiu* common relations, 
a cold, selfish, unsympathetic, ungentle and 
loveless life ? 

I 167 1 



Ci^e (Bpptt €unmt^ 



There are men and women who have learned so 
well the lesson of love taught by the Master, 
that all along their path a ministry of kindness 
is wrought by them which brightens and blesses 
the lives of all who come within their influence. 
Their course through this world is like that of 
a river across a desert whose banks are fringed 
with green. Like the Master, they literally go 
about doing good. They have a genius for 
kindness. They are ever doing thoughtful little 
things which add to the worWs sweetness and 
happiness. 

Once in crossing a meadow I came to a spot 
that was filled with fragrance. Yet I could see 
no flowers and I wondered whence the fra- 
grance came. At last I found, low down, close 
to the ground, hidden by the tall grass, in- 
numerable little flowers growing. It was from 
these the fragrance came. You enter some 
homes. There is a rich perfume of love that 
pervades all the place. It may be a home of 
wealth and luxury, or it may be plain and bare. 
No matter ; it is not the house, nor the furni- 
ture, nor the adornment that makes the air of 

[ 168] 



sweetness. You look closely. It is a gentle 
woman, mother or daughter, quiet, lowly, hid- 
ing herself away, from whose life the fragrance 
flows. She may not be beautiful, may not be 
specially well-educated, may not be musical, 
nor an artist, nor " clever '' in any way ; but 
wherever she moves she leaves a benediction. 
Her sweet patience is never disturbed by the 
sharp words that fall about her. The children 
love her because she never tires of them. She 
helps them with their lessons, listens to their 
frets and worries, mends their broken toys, 
makes dolls'* dresses for them, straightens out 
their tangles, settles their little quan'els, and 
finds time to play with them. When there is 
sickness in the home she is the angel of com- 
fort. Her face is always bright with the out- 
shining of love. Her voice has music in it as it 
falls in cheerful tenderness on a sufferer's ear. 
Her hands are wondrously gentle as their sooth- 
ing touch rests on the aching head, or as they 
minister in countless ways about the bed of 
pain. 

[ 169 ] 



Ci^e sippet €nntnt^ 



** The lives that make the world so sweet 
Are shi/y and hide like humble flowers ; 
We pass them hy with our careless feet, 
JVor dream His their fragrance fills the bower, 
And cheers and comforts us, hour by hour. '* 

A young woman who had passed through deep 
sorrows said to a friend one day, in speaking of 
the comfort certain persons had given her un- 
consciously, " I wish some people knew just 
how much their faces can comfort one ! I often 
ride down in the same street-car with your 
father, and it has been such a help to me to sit 
next to him. There is something so good and 
strong and kind about him, it has been a com- 
fort just to feel he was beside me. Sometimes, 
when I have been utterly depressed and dis- 
couraged, he has seemed somehow to know just 
the right word to say to me ; but if he didn''t 
talk, why, I just looked at his face, and that 
helped me. He probably has not the least idea 
of it, either, for I know him so slightly, and I 
don'^t suppose people half realize, anyway, how 
much they are helping or hindering others ! '^ 
There is a gi*eat deal of this unconscious kind- 

[ 170 ] 



C]^e 0iinimv of l^inDne^js 

ness in the world. Moses wist not that his face 
shone. The best people are not aware of their 
goodness. According to the old legend, it was 
only when it fell behind him, where he could 
not see it, that the saintly man's shadow healed 
the sick. This is a parable. Goodness that is 
aware of itself has lost much of its charm. 
Kindnesses that are done unconsciously mean 
the most. 

It is one of the blessings of pain or suffering 
that it softens hearts, and woos out gentleness 
and kindness. A very common experience is 
given in the story of a worker in one of the 
slums, which tells of a whole family completely 
changed through the influence of a deformed 
child who became the angel of the home. 
The father was a navvy, the lads were coarse 
and uncouth, and the mother, overworked and 
far from strong, had fallen into untidy habits. 
But there was bom into that home a crippled 
child, and it was the means of drawing out 
the sympathy, love, and tenderness of the whole 
family. The man nursed and petted his child 
evenings ; the boys made playthings for her, 

[ 171 ] 



ci^e (Upptv €mtmt^ 



and showed their affection in all sorts of pleas- 
ant ways ; the mother kept the window clean, 
that her child, pillowed on the table, might 
look out on the court. Thus a large and blessed 
ministry of kindness was inspired by what 
seemed a misfortune. The suffering of a child 
transformed all the household life, making each 
heart gentler, sweeter, more thoughtful, more 
unselfish. It is often so. Many a sweet home 
owes most of its sweetness to a quiet, patient 
sufferer, whose pain has been the messenger of 
God to soften hearts and enrich common lives 
with heavenly tenderness. 

One good rule of kindness is never to allow a 
day to pass in which some one has not been 
made a little happier. We fail to realize, too, 
how much happiness even very little things 
give. It may be only a word of cheer as we 
meet a neighbor on the street, or an inquiry at 
the door when one is sick, or a note of sym- 
pathy when there is trouble in the home, or a 
simple remembrance on a birthday or an anni- 
versary. Such seeming trifles, costing nothing 
but thoughtfulness and an expression of love, 

[ 172 ] 



are life and cheer to those to whom they come. 
They make the world a sweeter place to live 
in. They make burdens lighter, rough paths 
smoother, hard toil easier, loneliness more 
endurable. 

Whatever else we may do or may not do, we 
should certainly train ourselves to be kind. It 
may not be an easy lesson to learn, for its 
secret is forgetting ourselves and thinking of 
others — and this is always hard. But it can be 
learned. To begin with, there must be a gentle 
heart to inspire the gentle life. We must love 
people — if we do not, no training, no following 
of rules, will ever make us kind. But if the 
heart be full of the love of Christ, the disposi- 
tion will be loving, and it will need no rules 
to teach the lips to speak ever gracious words 
and the hands to do always the things of kind- 
ness, and to do them always at the right time. 
Too many wait till it is too late to be kind, 

fSome day I meant — 
When smoothe?' ran the wheels of life, 

And peace and leisure close were hlent^ 
And all the weary toil and strife 
[ 173 ] 



Ci^e aippet Cutrentjs 



Had given way to sweet content — 
Some time I meant 
To closer draw lovers tendrils dear 
Around my boy, and many ways 
fSo dear to boyish hearts^ to cheer 
And brighten all his boyhood^ s daySy 
And bring content. 

Some time, I thought 
To make his life a poem rare. 

Replete with noble thought and aim ; 
A structure great, and good and fair. 
Crowned by the coronet of his fame, 
I planned for naught. 
For, now my leisure hours are here. 
So swiftly time its changes ring, 
The scenes that once had been so dear. 
Have now forever taken wing. 
Too late the thought 



[ 174 ] 



Cl^e jEtnfjsJtrv of tncoma^tmtnt 



[ 175 ] 



" Talk Happiness. The world is sad enough 
Without your woes. No path is wholly rough ; 
Look for the places that are smooth and deary 
And speak of these to rest the weary ear 
Of earthy so hurt by one continuous strain 
Of human discontent and grief and pain.** 



[ 176] 



CHAPTER FIFTEENTH 

Cl^e piinimv of Encouragement 




OTHING is more worth 
while in this world than en- 
couragement. No mission is 
more divine than the en- 
courager'^s. In no other way 
can we do more good than 
by going about, speaking words of cheer. In 
Westmeal, near Antwerp, there is a convent 
of Trappist monks who represent a strangely 
perverted conception of Christianity. There are 
thirty-six monks who live there together, un- 
der the vow of perpetual silence. They dress 
in rough sackcloth, with ropes about their 
waists, their heads shaven and their beards un- 
dressed. They live on bread, sour milk, and 
vegetables, sleep on hard boards, and spend 
their days in frigid and solemn silence. If a 
visitor speaks to one of these monks, the monk 
draws his cowl closer about his head and moves 
away. Each day he walks in the garden and 

[ 177 ] 



Cl^e Oppet; Cut:t:entji 



looks into a grave opened and ready for the 
one of the company who is first to die. 
This, it is claimed, is a high ideal of Christian 
living. This order of monks suppose that they 
are illustrating in a lofty way the holiness and 
beauty of Christianity. But it is not such liv- 
ing that the New Testament teaches. Jesus 
Christ did not live such a life. He did not 
walk about in silence. He was the sunniest of 
men. He was ready to give cheer to all he met. 
He taught his followers to let their light shine 
on the world's darkness. He would have us hide 
within our hearts oui* cares and sufferings, and 
give out only blessing and gladness. 
Yet there always have been those who pervert 
the teachings of Christ in this matter of cheer- 
ful living and make their religious life dreary 
and disheartening. Instead of being helpers of 
the faith and joy of others, they are hinderers. 
Instead of making others stronger for struggle, 
for burden-bearing, and for duty, they make it 
harder for them to do their part. It is reported 
that during the siege of Ladysmith a civilian 
was arrested, tried by com-t-maitial, and sen- 

[ 178 ] 



C]^e piinimv ot c^ncouragement 

tenced to a year'^s imprisonment for being a 
discourager. The man would go along the 
picket-lines, saying disheartening words to the 
men on duty. He struck no blow for the enemy. 
He was not disloyal to the country. But he 
was a discourager. It was a critical time. The 
fortunes of the town and its brave garrison 
were trembling in the balance. Instead of heart- 
ening the men on whom the defence depended 
and making them braver and stronger, he put 
faintness into their hearts and made them less 
courageous. The court-martial adjudged it a 
crime to speak disheartening words at such a 
time. And the court-martial was right. 
There are men in every community who are 
continually doing the same thing. They go 
about everywhere as discouragers. Happy is 
the church which has not one or more such 
members on its roll. They are good people, 
godly and upright, perhaps active in many 
ways. But they never see the hopeful side of 
the church's life. If you talk to them of some- 
thing that is encouraging, growing enthusias- 
tic in your narration, they will come in with 

[ 179 1 



Ci^e Oppet €nnmt^ 



their dismal " but '' and dampen your ardor 
with questions or suppositions meant to dis- 
count your hopefulness and quench the flame 
of your enthusiasm. They are never known to 
say a word of hearty, unqualified approval of 
anything. There is always some fly in the 
ointment. The minister is a faithful man, but 
if he would only preach more thus and thus 
he would do greater good. Then he is not as 
faithful a pastor as he might be. The church 
seems to be prospering. There are many ad- 
ditions to it from time to time. The financial 
reports are good. But — there is something not 
altogether satisfactory. So it is with everything 
in the church life. 

These people never imagine that they are dis- 
loyal to their spiritual home. They would do 
nothing to hurt the church. They think they 
are among its most faithful and useful mem- 
bers. But all the while they are making it 
harder for every other member they speak to 
to continue loyal and earnest. They are lessen- 
ing the pastor's influence and robbing him of 
power. They are putting discouragement into 

[ 180 ] 



Cl^e piini^tt^ of Cncoumgement 

the heart of everyone they meet. Such members 
are real enemies of Christ. If an ecclesiastical 
court-martial could inflict upon them some sort 
of punishment which would cure them of their 
grievous fault it would be a blessing to many 
people, and the church would have reason to 
rejoice and thank God. 

But not in churches only are discouragers 
found — they are everywhere. Business men 
meet them continually. They are always saying 
disheartening words. They discount all pros- 
perity. They are prophets of evil wherever they 
go. The sweetest happiness has some alloy for 
them. If they made only themselves wretched 
by their miserable pessimism, there would be 
less need to trouble ourselves. If they per- 
sisted in being unhappy we could not help it, 
and if that were the end of it we might accord 
them the privilege without regret. But they 
are messengers of discouragement to everyone 
they meet. They stir up discontent wherever 
they move. Like the unhappy civilian in Lady- 
smith, they go among those who are carrying 
burdens, cares, and responsibilities, and by 

[ 181 ] 



Cl^e ^pvtt Currents 



their depressing talk make them less able to 
endure, less heroic and strong for struggle. 
Thus their influence works ill to their neigh- 
bors. 

At some points in the Alps the guides warn 
tourists not to talk nor sing, nor even to whis- 
per, lest the reverberation of their words in 
the air may start an avalanche fi'om its poise on 
the mountain and bring it down upon the vil- 
lages and homes in the valley. There are men 
and women who are carrying such loads of 
duty, anxiety, or sorrow, that the slightest ad- 
dition to the weight would crush them. They 
are battling bravely against odds. They are 
holding out under great pressure, sustained by 
a trembling hope of getting through, at last, 
successfully. They are bearing up under a bur- 
den of difficulty or trouble, comforted by the 
expectation that in the end their darkness will 
turn to light. But everything is in the balance. 
Then along comes one of these gloomy discour- 
agers. He has no perception of the fitness of 
things. He lacks that delicate, sympathetic feel- 
ing which enables men of a finer grain and a 

[ 182 ] 



Ci^e ^inimv of cCncoumgement 

nobler quality to enter into the experience of 
others and put strength into their hearts. He 
discovers the mood of anxiety through which 
his fi'iends are passing. But instead of speaking 
a word of cheer to help them to be victorious, 
he talks in a pessimistic or disheartening way 
which makes their difficulties seem greater, 
their bui'dens heavier, and their sorrows alto- 
gether hopeless. 

It is hard to be patient with such people, for 
they are really enemies of human happiness. 
They make life immeasurably harder for every- 
one they meet. They take the brightness out of 
the sunniest day, the blue out of the clearest 
sky, and something of the gladness out of the 
happiest heart. Then they make work harder 
for every toiler and pain keener for every 
sufferer. There ought to be a law making it a 
crime for one man to discom'age another, and 
affixing severe penalties to every violation of 
this law. 

How much better it would be if instead of be- 
ing discouragers we should all learn to be en- 
couragers of others ! The value of words of 

[ 183 ] 



Ci^e Oppet €unmt^ 



cheer is incalculable. There is an old story of 
a fireman who was climbing up a ladder amid 
smoke and flame, trying to reach a high win- 
dow, to rescue a child from a burning building. 
The man had almost gained the window, but 
the heat was so intense, and the smoke so 
blinding, that he staggered on the ladder and 
seemed about to turn back. A great crowd be- 
low was watching him with breathless interest 
and, seeing him waver and hesitate, one man 
cried, " Cheer him ! '' The cheer nerved the 
fireman anew for his heroic task, and in a mo- 
ment the brave fellow had entered the house 
and soon returned, saving the child. 
It is cheer people want, not discouragement, 
when they are fighting a hard battle. Men who 
give us only their doubts and fears are misan- 
thropists. True philanthropy brings us hope 
and heartening. The truest helpers of others 
are those who always have words of incitement 
and inspiration to speak, who always are en- 
couragers. 

Of a true-hearted woman, not brilliant, with 
no college degree, unknown in the paths of 

[ 184 1 



Ci^e ^ini^ttt of c^ncoutagement 

fame, but with a gift of love, and with power 
to make home sweet, one wrote : 



Around her childish hearts are twined^ 
As round some reverend saint enshrined ; 
And following hers the cl}ildish feet 
Are led to ideals true and sweet. 
And find all purity and good 
In her divinest motherhood. 

This sad old earth's a brighter place, 
All for the sunshine of her face ; 
Her very smile a blessing throws. 
And hearts are happier where she goes, 
A gentle, clear-eyed messenger, 
Go^ whisper love — thank God for her ! 



[ 185 1 



Ci^e Worn ti^at toa^ not ^atD 



[ 187 ] 



*' So many tender words and true 
We meant to say^ dear love, to you ; 
So many things we meant to do. 
But we forgot. 

" The busy days were full of care ; 
The long night fell, and unaware 
You passed beyond love's leading prayer 
While we forgot. 

" Now evermore through heart and brain 
There breathes an undertone of pain; 
Though what has been should be again^ 
We would for get. ^^ 



[ 188 ] 



CHAPTER SIXTEENTH 

Ci^e Wotn ti^at toajs not ^aiD 




ANY of the sins of most 
good people are sins of not 
doing. We need always to 
put into our prayer of peni- 
tence the confession, "We 
have left undone those things 
which we ought to have done." 
This is true of oui' sins of speech. In one of the 
psalms is a resolve that we all need to make — 
" I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not 
with my tongue.''' Some of us have a great deal 
of trouble with our tongues. We say many 
harsh words, perhaps bitter words which cut 
and sting. We may plead, as our defence of 
what we tell, that the things we say of others 
are true. But we have no right to blurt out 
words that give pain to another, merely be- 
cause they may chance to be true. 

** The ill-timed truth we should have kept, — 
WTio knows how sharp it pierced and stung f " 
[ 189 ] 



Ci^e apper CurtentjS 



There is a great deal of sweet forgiveness in 
every true heaii; which has been filled with the 
love of Christ. The Master'^s emphatic lesson, 
that we should forgive, not seven times, but 
seventy times seven, has been learned by many 
patient and gentle believers, for it must be 
confessed that in too many homes there is al- 
most measureless need for forgiveness. But is it 
not most unjust in any one to make such de- 
mands on love, to make life so hard for one 
who has intrusted the heart to his keeping ? 
Should he blame any one but himself if some 
day he finds that he has wearied and worn out 
the love which has been so patient, so long 
suffering, with him ? 

** Forgive you f — O, of course, dear, 
A dozen times a week ! 
We women were created 
Forgiveness hut to speak, 

*' You^d die before you'd hurt me 
Intentionally ? . . . True. 
But it is not, O dearest. 

The thing you mean to do^ — 



[ 190 ] 



Ci^e Woti) tl^at tuajs not ^atn 

*^ 7^5 z^Tia^ ^ot^ do, unthinking, 

That makes the quick tear start ; 
The tear may he forgotten. 
But the hurt stays in the heart ; 

*^ And though I may forgive you 
A dozen times a dayy 
Yet each forgiveness wears, dear, 
A little love away, 

**And one day you'll he grieving^ 
And chiding me, no douht, 
Because so much forgiving 
Has worn a great love out " 

But it is possible never to treat our friends 
unkindly in word or act, and yet to sin griev- 
ously against them. We sin against others 
continually in restraining kindly speech, in 
withholding words which we ought to have 
spoken, — cheerful, encouraging, helpfiil words. 

** The word we had not sense to say, 
Who knows how grandly it had rung f " 

We often think, after the opportunity has 
passed, of some strong, true word we might 
have spoken at a certain moment, but which 

[ 191 ] 



Cl^e ^pptv €munt0 



we did not speak. Perhaps "we had not sense "' 
to say it. With many of us the mind works 
slowly, and we do not think of the fine answer 
we could have given or the wise word we might 
have uttered until it is too late. Our best 
thoughts ofttimes are after-thoughts, too late 
to be uttered, and avail us nothing. 
Or the good word may have been kept in the 
heart unspoken, through timidity or shyness. 
Bashfulness is sometimes a hinderer of useful- 
ness. We want to speak, but we cannot conquer 
our natural diffidence, and so the kindly or 
cheering words we were eager to utter lie un- 
expressed in our hearts, and our friend does not 
know that we wished to hearten or encourage 
or comfort him in his time of trouble or suf- 
fering. 

Or it may be want of moral courage that 
restrains speech when we had the chance to 
say noble words for Christ. There is a great 
deal more evil wrought through moral cow- 
ardice than most of us would care to admit. 
We are afraid of a sneer. We are not brave 
enough to stand alone. We wrong our friends, 

[ 192 ] 



C]^e Woth ti^at t»aj2j not ^afD 

too, most of us, at times, by not speaking 
courageously in their defence when their char- 
acter or conduct is unjustly assailed. Many of 
us have bitter thoughts of our own behavior 
when we remember how we failed one we love 
in an hour when he needed us to stand up for 
him in his absence. The word we did not say 
burns before our eyes in lurid characters and 
shames us. 

There is another large class of words unspoken 
which count seriously against us in life's rec- 
ords. These are words of kindly interest and 
affection, which it is in our heart to say, but 
which find no utterance in speech. Especially 
in home fellowships do such silences work hurt. 
Perhaps we are careful never to say a word 
that would cause pain — if we reach this self- 
restraint we have attained a high ideal of 
Christian living. But this is only negative. Not 
doing people harm is not the same as doing 
them good. We sorely wrong our loved ones by 
keeping back, by holding in our hearts unspoken 
thoughts of love which we ought to have uttered 
in their ears. 

[ m ] 



Ci^e ^pptv €mvmt^ 



There is altogether too much reserve in many 
friendships. We are too chary of words of com- 
mendation. It is a great thing to a child to get 
a word of praise for something that has been 
well done, some task given, some lesson set, 
some duty required, or even for a blundering 
effort that was the best the child could make. 
It is like wine to a weary one, toiling and 
struggling faithfully, though perhaps without 
the reward of apparent success, to have a word 
of appreciation and of good cheer spoken 
heartily and sincerely. It brightens all of one'^s 
day of task-work and puts new com^age into 
one^^s heart, if in the morning thoughtful 
love speaks its gracious word of tenderness. 
Through all the hours the light shines and 
the song sings. Yet too many of us seem 
not to think of this. We love the dear ones 
of our home, but somehow the love is con- 
gealed in our heart and we fail to get it 
thawed out, and so those whom we ought to 
help with their burdens, cares, trials, and sor- 
rows go unhelped by us through long di'eary 
days and months. 

[ 194 ] 



Ci^e Wov^ ti^at toajj not ^a(D 

** Loving words will cost but little 

Journeying up the hill of life ; 
But they make the weak and weary 

Stronger, braver for the strife. 
Do you count them only trifles f 

What to earth are sun and rain f 
Never was a kind word wasted; 

Never one was said in vain,"*"* 

It will do each of us good to think seriously of 
our own particular habit in this regard. Do we 
sin against our loved ones by keeping back the 
words of appreciation or commendation and 
the expressions of affection which continually 
press up to the very door of our lips for utter- 
ance, and yet are withheld ? Are there hearts 
close to us that are starving for their daily 
bread of love which we have to give, which it 
is our duty to give, but which we do not dis- 
pense ? Someone says, " Children do not dream 
of the fire under the snow, in the reticent 
nature of their parents.''"' But is it not a griev- 
ous sin against children for parents to allow 
the snow to cover up the fires in this way? 
Would it not be infinitely better if the love 
found a language, if the parental pride, the 

[ 195 ] 



Ci^e Oppet €mvtnt^ 



enthusiasm, when beautiful things come out in 
the children'^s Hves, the gladness when they do 
well — if these feelings and emotions were ex- 
pressed ? Nothing else so woos out the best in 
us as love does. 

But it is not in homes only that we sin against 
others by not speaking the word we ought to 
speak. In all our intercourse with people there 
is too much of the same thoughtless and un- 
loving reticence. We cannot lift men'^s heavy 
burdens off their shoulders, but we could make 
them braver and stronger to bear these burdens 
if we would but speak the ringing word of 
cheer that we might speak. Do we always 
do it ? 

A popular writer, referring to years of hard 
and disheartening toil in her own early life, 
tells of the help she got from a friend when- 
ever she met him. He would say, " How goes 
it, Louisa ? Keep your heart up. God bless 
you ! "^ She says she always went back to her 
lonely room and her struggles, after meet- 
ing this friend, comforted and heartened by 
his cheering words. It would not cost any of 

[ 196] 



Ci^e l^ovn ti^at ttia^ not ^atD 

us much to form the habit of saying a bright, 
hopeful word to every one we meet; and we 
cannot know what helpfulness there would be 
for others in this habit. 

There is never any lack of appreciative words 
when one is dead. Everybody comes then with 
some reminiscence of his kindness, some grate- 
ful expression concerning him. But that is not 
the right time for love'^s gentle thoughts to 
thaw out. It is too late. 

** Ah ! woe for the word that is never said 

Till the ear is deaf to hear, 
And woe for the lack to the fainting head 

Of the ringing shout of cheer ! 
Ah ! woe for the laggard feet that tread 

In the mournful wake of the bier ! 

** A pitiful thing the gift to-day 
That is dross and nothing worth, 

Though if it had come hut yesterday 
It had hrimmed with sweet the earth ; 

A fading rose in a death-cold hand. 
That perished in want and dearthJ*'* 



[ 197 ] 



Ci^tng^ ti^at M^t 



[ 199 ] 



" The smallest hark on life's tumultuous ocean 
Will leave a track behind forevermore ; 
The lightest wave of influence^ once in motion^ 
Extends and widens to the eternal shore. 
We should he wary^ then^ who go hefore 
A myriad yet to he^ and we should take 
Ou/r hearing carefully^ when breakers roar 
And fearful tempests gather ; one mistake 
May wreck wnnumbered harks that follow in our wake.'* 



[ 200 ] 



CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH 




HERE are things that do not 
last. They may be beauti- 
ful to the eye, but in a mo- 
ment they are gone, like the 
snowflake which falls on 
the water, sparkles for an 
instant, and then vanishes, leaving no trace. 
There are many lives running through long 
days and years which leave nothing to tell the 
story of their stay in the world. There are those 
who live a full lifetime and are busy all the 
while, and yet do nothing that will endure. 
There are even Christian people, St. Paul tells 
us, who build, too, on the only true foundation, 
Jesus Christ, and yet all of whose work will be 
burned up in the final testing. They build 
wood, hay, and stubble into the walls instead 
of gold, silver, and precious stones. They will 
be saved themselves, but so as by fire, all their 
work being burned up. 

[ 201 ] 



Ci^e appet CuttentsJ 



It was one of the conceits of ancient poetry 
that the oarsman, Charon, was permitted on 
one occasion to visit the earth. From a lofty 
mountain top he looked down upon the cities 
and palaces and works of man. As he went 
away, he said, " All these people are spending 
their time in just building birds'* nests. No 
wonder they fail and are ashamed."*^ Building 
birds^ nests to be swept away in the floods, 
when they might be erecting palaces of immor- 
tal beauty to dwell in forever — thus indeed 
must much of the best of our life and work in 
this world appear to the angels who look down 
upon us from heaven and see things as they 
are. 

It is unworthy of an immortal being to live 
thus, to spend a lifetime amid splendid oppor- 
tunities, and yet leave nothing that will last. 
We are capable of doing things that will abide 
forever, and we should never be content to do 
anything that will not last. Nothing is worth 
while which is not eternal, which will not 
permanently enrich our own character, which 
will not in some way make the world better, 

[ 202 ] 



Ci^ingjJ ti^at lajst 



sweeter, happier, and which we cannot carry 
with us as treasure into the future Hfe. 
It is possible to Hve so that everything we do 
shall last. " Ye know that your labor is not vain 
in the Lord,'''* said Saint Paul. We may, in all 
our busy life, lay only gold, silver, and precious 
stones on the walls, materials which will not be 
consumed nor tarnished in the fire that shall 
try every man'^s work, of what sort it is. A man 
spends three score and ten years in lowly Chris- 
tian living. He makes no success in the world, 
as men regard success. Yet all the while he lives 
honestly and faithfully in his own place. While 
other men are fighting for position, scrambling 
for preferment, thinking only of themselves, he 
lives devoutly toward God, unselfishly toward 
men and diligently in the doing of all duty. 
When he dies he leaves nothing behind him — 
no money, no property. But there is another 
sphere in which results are rated not by dol- 
lars, but by moral values. In this sphere a cup 
of cold water given to a thirsty one, in the 
name of Christ, will count for more than the 
piling up of a fortune for one'^s self. In this 

[ 203 ] 



%\)t (lipvtt €unmt^ 



sphere the man whose hands appear empty is 
rich and leaves to the world an enduring in- 
heritance of blessing and good. Charles Kings- 
ley tells us that 

H^ot all who seem to fail, have failed indeed ; 
Not all who fail, have therefore worked in vain. 

There is no failure for the good and wise. 
What though thy seed should fall by the wayside. 
And the birds snatch it, yet the birds are fed, 
Or they may bear it far across the tide 
To give rich harvests after thou art dead. 

One of the most picturesque sights one sees in 
the country is an old mill, with its water-wheel 
outside. The water fills the buckets, and all day 
long the wheel turns round and round in the 
sunshine. It seems to be toiling away laboriously 
enough but uselessly. You see nothing that it 
accomplishes by its ceaseless motion. But its 
shaft runs through the wall, and out of sight 
within the mill turns the stones which grind the 
wheat, and the bolts which prepare the flour 
that feeds many people. There are human lives 
which, with all their unresting toil, seem to be 

[ 204 ] 



Ci^ittg^ ti^at lajst 



doing nothing, and yet they project into the 
sphere of the unseen, and there they make ben- 
efit and good of incalculable value. 
The secret of the work that lasts is that it is 
done in the name of Christ and that it is in- 
spired by love. What we do for ourselves will 
not last. The fabric will crumble, however im- 
posing it may be. He who writes his own name 
on his work is doomed to disappointment. 
There is no immortality for vanity and self- 
seeking. The glory of self-conceit is but a bub- 
ble that bursts and leaves only a wrack of 
froth. But what we do in love for Christ and 
for our fellow-men will live. One made a piece 
of costly embroidery, putting into it finest 
threads of gold and silver. Then the work was 
laid away for a time, and when it was looked 
at again the whole delicate and beautiful fab- 
ric had been destroyed — nothing was left of 
it but the gold and silver threads. These were 
bright as ever in imperishable beauty. The 
only threads in the web of a life which will en- 
dure are the gold and silver threads which love 
for Christ and love for men put in. 

[ 205 ] 



Ci^e ^pptt €mtmt^ 



If men only realized and remembered this they 
would not spend so much of their time in do- 
ing things that will not last. Even in our re- 
ligious work many of us seem to think that 
money is about the only thing that is worth 
giving. If we cannot put our name on the sub- 
scription paper, with a good sum attached, we 
think we are not doing anything. We need to 
be reminded continually that he who has been 
immeasurably the world's greatest benefactor 
gave no money, but gave instead love'^s service 
and sacrifice — gave himself. 
Our capacity for usefulness is not measured by 
the amount of money we have to bestow. The 
greatest gift we can give to any cause is our- 
self. Indeed nothing really counts but love. 
Saint Paul tells us this. " If I speak with the 
tongues of men and of angels, but have not 
love, I am become sounding brass, or a clang- 
ing cymbal.'' Human eloquence is nothing, un- 
less love be in it ; there is nothing in it that 
abides ; it is only a pleasant noise whose music 
dies away in the air. Saint Paul says further, 
" If I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, 

[ 206 ] 



Ci^tngjss ti^at lajst 



. and have not love, it profiteth me 
nothing.'' Money is nothing in God's sight if 
the giving of it be not inspired by love. The 
poor may be fed, — money will buy bread, — but 
in the sphere of spiritual realities, no record is 
kept of even the most lavish outgiving of bread 
and raiment for charity, if love be not the in- 
spiring motive. Love is life, and if love be 
wanting, the largest benefactions are only dead 
works. 

There is nothing greater possible that we can 
do in this world than to put love into a life 
where love is lacking. A great novelist relates 
of one of his characters, a nobleman, that when 
he walked over his estates, he carried acorns in 
his pocket, and when he came to a spot which 
seemed bare he would plant one of them, so 
that the dreary place might be brightened. 
We are forever coming upon human lives which 
by reason of sorrow, failure or misfortune are 
left bare and empty. If we carry always a heart 
full of love and cheer, we may drop the living 
seeds into these sad and lonely places, thus 
changing desert spots into bits of lovely gardens. 

[ 207 ] 



Ci^e ^ppn Cwrtentjs 



^^ If you were toiling up a weary Mil, 

Bearing a load beyond your sU^ength to bear, 
/Straining each nerve untiringly y and still 

Stumbling and losing foothold here and there ; 
And each one passing by would do so much 

As give one upward lift and go his way, 
Would not the slight reiterated touch 

Of help and kindness lighten all the day ? 

^^ If you were breasting a keen wind which tossed 

And buffeted and chilled you as you strove, 
Till baffled and bewildered quite, you lost 

The power to see the way, and aim, and move ; 
And one, if only for a momenVs space, 

Gave you a shelter from the blast, 
Would you not find it easier to face 

The storm again when the brief rest was past f " 

We do not begin to know what power even 
very little things, if love be in them, have to 
put brightness and a blessing into dreary or 
empty lives. The memory of a kindly word 
stays ofttimes for years in a heart to which it 
brought cheer and uplift. A flower sent to a 
darkened room in some time of sickness or sor- 
row, leaves a fragrance which abides ever after- 
wards. A note of sympathy with its word of 
comfort and love is cherished as dearer than 

[ 208 ] 



Cljfngis ti^at lajst 



gold or gems, and its message is never forgot- 
ten. "Love never faileth,*" never dies. The 
greatest deeds without love make no enduring 
record, but when love inspires them, the small- 
est ministries of kindness leave imperishable 
memories in the lives which they help and bless. 
It ought to be the deepest wish of every true 
heart to leave in this world something which 
will last, which will not perish amid the wastes 
of time, which will live in blessing and good. 

** Is the world better or worse where I tread f 
What have I done in the years that are dead f 
What have I left in the way as I passed, — 
Foibles to perish, or blessings to last f " 

Jesus said of Judas that it had been good for 
that man if he had not been bom. Judas left a 
terrible curse in the world instead of a bene- 
diction. That which he did made infamy for 
him instead of honor. No doubt the case of 
Judas was an extraordinary one, but there are 
countless others of whom the same is measur- 
ably true. It is a dreadful thing to miss a min- 
istry of blessing in one'^s life, to be a tree of 
poisonous exhalation, like the fabled upas, in- 

[ 209 ] 



Ci^e apper Currentjs 



stead of a tree planted by the streams of water 
which bears its fruit in its season. It is a sad 
thing to live in vain, to spend one*'s years in 
doing things that are not worth while, things 
that will perish. We should not be content to 
let a single day pass in which we do not speak 
some gracious word or do a kindness that will 
add to the happiness, the hope, or the courage 
and strength of another life. Such ministries of 
love will redeem our days of toil and struggle 
fi*om dreariness and earthliness, and make them 
radiant in God'^s eye and in the record they 
make for eternity. 

*^ For me — to have made one soul 
The better f 07' my birth ; 
To ham added hut one flower 
To the garden of the earth ; 

'^To have struck one blow for truth 
In the daily fight with lies; 
To have done one deed of right 
In the face of calumnies ; 

** To have sown in the souls of men 
One thought that will not die — 
To have been a link in the chain of life, 
Shall he immortality,''^ 
[ 210 ] 



ijsi ^tlVUBmial a pumu 7 



[ 211 ] 



" Life is hard enough at best ; 
But the love that is expressed 
Makes it seem a pathway blest 

To our feet ; 
And the troubles that we share 
Seem the easier to bear. 

*' Smile upon your neighbor's care^ 

As you greet ; 
Rough and stony are our ways^ 
Dark and dreary are our days ; 
But another* s love and praise 

Make them sweet.'*'' 



[ 212 ] 



CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH 

910 ^tumnial a jtttjstafee ? 




NE writes in a letter: "A 
friend of mine was speaking 
to me about self-denial. She 
does not think one ought to 
sacrifice one*'s self too much, 
even for one^s own people. 



Often we find one person in a family doing 
things for another member of the household, 
waiting on her, bearing her burdens, when she 
is more able to do these things herself. My 
friend does not think it is right to wear one's 
self out for others. It only makes the others 
selfish, and they do not even thank you for it, 
but sit with folded hands, expecting you to 
continue to do and do and do for them. Please 
give me your opinion about this." 
This question is important enough and of wide 
enough interest to have a thoughtful answer. 
The matter of self-denial for others is one of 
which we should think very sanely and care- 
[ 213 ] 



Cl^e (ixpvtt €munt^ 



fully. Self-denial for its own sake is nothing 
at all. In mediaeval days people thought they 
were pleasing God when they wore hair shirts, 
scourged themselves with whips, put nails or 
pebbles in their shoes to hurt their feet and 
make walking a torture, and endured all sorts 
of self-inflicted pains and sufiferings. They sup- 
posed that this was being like Christ, and that 
in passing through such experiences they were 
proving themselves saints of a high order. The 
truth is, however, that the whole system was a 
piece of self-deception. It was abomination in 
God's sight. The sacrifice to which God calls us 
is a living sacrifice, a devotement of our life, 
with all its powers at their best, to him for 
service. 

It is no better when persons volxmtarily, with- 
out any call of love or duty, cause themselves 
suffering or loss. God does not want us to make 
ourselves unhappy — unhappiness is not a lovely 
quality, nor is it meritorious in itself, and it is 
not pleasing to God. Self-denial has nothing 
praiseworthy in it save when it is exercised in 
the service of love, and radiant with the spirit 

[ 214 ] 



910 ^elf=?^enial a pumu ? 

of love. Alone it does no one any good and 
adds nothing to the world's treasure of bless- 
ing. Merely for its own sake it avails nothing. 
" If I bestow all my goods to feed the poor 
but have not love, it profiteth me 
nothing.*'*' 

Self-sacrifice avails only when it is required in 
doing one'^s duty. Then it becomes beautiful. 
For example, if some friend is in trouble and 
you are called to care for him, and to endure 
loss, pain, and cost, in ministering to him, and 
do it, and do it cheerfully, that is self-sacrifice 
which pleases God. Jesus Christ himself showed 
the highest, the supreme, example of self-denial 
when he went to his cross in service of love for 
men. He did not go to the cross merely to make 
a spectacle before the world, doing something 
that would attract attention or set before men 
an ideal ; he went there in devotion to the will 
of God and in love for men. It was the good 
Shepherd giving his life for his sheep. It 
was the Son of God loving and giving himself 
for us. 

We must carefully distinguish, therefore, be- 

[ 215 ] 



Ci^e ^vptv CttttetitjsJ 



tween self-denial as a matter of show, and self- 
denial in doing God'^s will and in the service of 
love. It is not the act itself that is beautiful, 
but the love that is in the act. There are mul- 
titudes of people who practise what they call 
self-denials — giving up certain indulgences on 
certain occasions, supposing that thus they are 
pleasing God, while in reality they are only 
playing farces in the sight of heaven and de- 
ceiving themselves. 

It never is right to wear one'^s self out, as this 
writer'^s friend puts it, for another, unless the 
sacrifice is one that is required in the doing of 
one'^s duty, and one that does good. Ofttimes 
there is harm done by mothers, for example, in 
denying themselves for their children. Too 
many mothers, with love that is tenderer than 
wise, make a serious mistake, pampering their 
children'^s selfishness, self-esteem, and pride, 
while they sacrifice their own life in doing 
things for them which the children ought to do 
for themselves. The truest home education is 
not that which does everything for children, 
but that which teaches them to carry their own 

[ 216 ] 



9I?5 ^elM^ent'al a jHtjstafee ? 

burdens, to fight their own battles, to work out 
the problems of their own lives. The older sister, 
for example, who solves all the examples for 
her little sister and helps her with her lessons 
when she comes from school, doing the child's 
work for her and saving her the effort, may 
think she is very kind and is proving a true and 
helpful sister ; but really, she is harming the 
child, robbing her of the opportunity of grow- 
ing in intellectual experience and strength. The 
truest kindness on the part of such a sister 
would be to encourage, stimulate, and inspire 
her sister, and thus lead her to work out the 
examples and get the lessons for herself. 
A wise man tells us that our best fi'iend is he 
who makes us do our best. That is God'^s own 
way of dealing with us and of helping us. He 
does not do things for us, but encourages us to 
do them for ourselves. There is an old promise 
which reads, " Cast thy burden upon the Lord.*" 
It does not go on to say, however, that the 
Lord will carry the burden for us, leaving us 
with no load of our own. Rather the promise 
is, " He shall sustain thee.**' That is, we may 

[ 217 ] 



Ci^e ^pptt €nvtmt^ 



cast our burden upon the Lord in faith and 
confidence, and then he will strengthen us, en- 
courage and inspire us, and give us wisdom 
and grace, so that we may carry our burdens for 
ourselves, growing stronger meanwhile. Since 
this is God's way of helping us, we best show 
our love for our friends when we help them in 
the same way. Over-helping is a serious danger 
of all friendship. We only make less ready for 
real and victorious life those for whom we make 
everything easy. 

Thoughtful readers of the Bible note in all the 
Lord's helping of others an economy of miracle 
and grace. He did not do for them anything 
they could do for themselves. He required them 
to co-operate with him, too, when he would 
help or heal them. The lepers were bidden to 
go and show themselves to the priest, and it 
was "as they went'' that they were cleansed. 
The lame man was commanded to rise up and 
walk, and in his obedience strength came and 
he walked — supernaturally helped to obey. 
This is the law of all divine helping. We are 
not carried along on our way, nor are our tasks 

[ 218 ] 



910 ^tlU'^mial a pumu ? 

done for us — we must walk and work, and Christ 
works with us. If we fail in oiu' part, through 
disobedience, or indolence, or unbelief, the work 
is not done and the responsibility for the failure 
is ours, not God's. 

Whatever we may say of unwise and unneces- 
sary self-denial, however, there come times in 
each one's life when everything must be laid 
down in the self-forgetfulness of love, while we 
serve others in Christ's name. Christ himself did 
this. He loved unto the uttermost, and so must 
we. He gave his life for the world, and so must 
we. The apostles did the same when they went 
forth preaching and enduring persecution, most 
of them in the end suffering martyrdom. They 
stopped at no cost or sacrifice when duty called 
them. Every true Christian shows the same 
spirit when he forgets himself and lives for the 
helping of others. Every good deed we do costs 
something, is the fruit of a self-denial. It is im- 
possible for us to live truly and worthily a sin- 
gle day for self alone — we must continually give 
up our own way, denying ourselves the indul- 
gence of our own desires, and living to serve. 

[ 219 ] 



W^z ^pptt Currentjs 



" Love thyself last ; and ohy such joy shall thrill 
thee. 
As never yet such selfish souls was given. 
Whatever thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee, 
And earth shall seem the ante-room of heaven,*^ 

There is no question, therefore, concerning the 
duty of self-denial. It is essential in a worthy 
life. We do not begin to live truly or to be like 
Christ until we begin to love, and we cannot 
love without denying self continually. Whatever 
may be our duty to our friends in the way of 
inciting them to bear their own burdens and 
do their own tasks, our heart must ever be filled 
with that love which seeketh not its own, and 
we must always be ready to serve those who 
need our help, regardless of the cost to our- 
selves. One said of another, " He is a very good 
man, but he does not remind me of Jesus 
Christ. "*' Of another it was said, " He makes 
people fall in love with Jesus Christ."" This was 
a better witness. Those only remind us of Christ 
who have learned to love as he loved, and to 
serve in self-forgetful ministry without reserve, 
without stint, unto the uttermost. 

[ 220 ] 



jttafeet; 



[ 221 ] 



" Go hack to thy garden-plot^ sweetheart ! 
Go hack till the evening falls ! 
And hind thy lilies and train thy vines^ 
Till for thee the Master calls. 

" Go make thy garden fair as thou canst^ 
Thou workest never alone ; 
Perchance he whose plot is next to thine 
Will see it^ and mend his own. ' 



[ 222 ] 



CHAPTER NINETEENTH 




OD must love flowers, for he 
has strewn the earth with 
them. Everywhere they grow 
— not only in the garden 
and conservatory 5 where they 
are cultivated by human 
hands, but in the fields, in the meadows, in the 
forests, on the mountains, in deep canyons, 
along water-courses, in all out-of-the-way places, 
where no gardener cares for them. Flowers 
gi'owing everywhere in their season, in such 
profusion, tell us that God loves beauty. They 
tell us also of his loving thought for us, his 
children, in so adorning the earth which he has 
made to be our home. He might have made it 
a desert, bleak and bare, without beauty to 
charm our eyes; but instead he has spread love- 
liness everywhere. 

The true ideal of life is likeness to God. God 
loves beauty, and we should love beauty. Ham- 

[ 223 ] 



€]^e aippet currents 



ilton W. Mabie repeats a story which shows 
how one man at least was affected by the beau- 
tiful in nature. One day in the early spring a 
Scotchman was walking along the side of a 
mountain in Skye, when he came to a hut in 
which lived an old man he had known a great 
many years. He saw the old man with his head 
bowed, and his bonnet in his hand. He came 
up and said to him, after a bit : ^^ I did not 
speak to you, Sandy, because I thought you 
might be at your prayers." 
" Well, not exactly that,"' said the old man, 
" but I will tell you what I was doing. Every 
morning for forty years I have taken off my 
bonnet here to the beauty of the world.'' 
Beauty wherever it is seen is a reflection of 
God's face, the shining of heavenly light down 
upon the earth. Wherever we come upon it, it 
should touch our hearts with a spirit of rever- 
ence. God is near ; we are standing in the light 
of his countenance. The beauty we see every- 
where in natui-e is the beauty of the Lord, and 
we should not only reverence it, but seek to get 
something of its charm into our own lives. Very 

[ 224 ] 



fitting is the prayer, " Let the beauty of the 
Lord our God be upon us.''' 
If we are Hke God, we will not only love beauty 
and try to be beautiful in our lives and charac- 
ters, but will seek also to make beauty wherever 
we go. We will not only love flowers, but we 
will endeavor to make flowers bloom wherever 
we can get them to grow. Everyone who has 
even a little patch of ground near enough to 
his hand should make it as beautiful as possi- 
ble. Some people do this. If they have only a 
foot or two of soil in their yard, on the crowded 
city street, they will find some way to adorn it. 
If they have no ground where they can get 
something green to grow, they put boxes of 
soil in their windows and make them bits of 
garden. 

Some one has said that he who makes two blades 
of grass to grow where only one grew before is 
a benefactor. Everyone who makes any spot on 
this earth a little more beautiful is a co-worker 
with God. This is one way of blessing the world 
which may not often be commended or enjoined 
in sermons or books of devotion ; nevertheless, 

[ 2^5 ] 



Ci^e Oppet cttttentjs 



it is a way of doing good in which everyone 
should have a part. 

We say a man lacks taste who fails to keep in 
good order the patch of ground about his house, 
who sets out no shrubbery, plants no flowers, 
and does not keep his lawn neat and beautiful. 
But it is something worse than lack of taste — 
it is lack of grace. All slovenliness is sin, all 
untidiness, all want of cleanliness. Though one 
has to live in poverty, it is one'^s duty to make 
even the barest room as neat and attractive as 
possible. 

But there are other flowers besides those which 
in nature are so lovely. Our hearts should be 
made garden spots, full of beauty and fragrance. 
We should plant in them the seeds of lovely 
things. Our heart gardens need culture. The 
weeds must be kept down, the soil must be made 
soft and arable, the fruits of the Spirit must be 
cultivated. We should begin our garden-making 
in our own lives. If we cannot make them 
blossom into loveliness, there is little hope that 
we can change any other wilderness into a 
garden. Some people neglect their own heart- 

[226 ] 



culture in looking after that of their neigh- 
bors. 

*' How fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart, 
While thou sat'st on the judgment seat f 
Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines, 
And kept them from careless feet f 

** Nay, that is saddest of all to me, — 
That is saddest of all ! 
My vines are trailing, my roses are parched. 
My lilies droop and fall, ' ' 

Too many are so busy in finding weeds and 
briers in other people'^s lives that they have no 
time to keep the weeds and briers out of their 
own life gardens. Our own hearts and charac- 
ters should have our first care, for they are our 
own responsibility and no others. 
Then while looking well to our own gardens 
we should make at least one little corner of this 
world somewhat lovelier, a sweeter, better place 
to live in. One wiites of a quiet man, that 

In the desert, where he lies entombed. 
He made a little garden, and left there 
Some flowers that but for him had never bloomed- 

[ 227 ] 



Ci^e sippet Curtentjs 



If causing a blade of grass to grow where there 
was none before is something worth while, some- 
thing that redeems a life from uselessness, how 
much nobler a work it is, how much more worth 
while it is, to put a new touch of Christ-likeness 
into an immortal life, or to start a blessing in 
a community which will stay there and mul- 
tiply itself in good forever ! 
Lovely as flowers are wherever seen, even in 
greatest luxuriance, they never seem so beau- 
tiful as when they are found in desolate and 
dreary places. When the mountain-climber 
comes upon some dainty flower on a crag, sur- 
rounded by unmelting snows, he is affected almost 
to reverence. Humboldt tells of being deeply 
touched and impressed by finding a beautiful 
flower on the edge of the crater of Vesuvius. 
In a little hollow in the lava, ashes and dust had 
settled, and when rain had fallen there was a cup- 
ful of rich soil ready. Then a bird or the wind had 
borne a seed and dropped it in this bit of garden 
on the crater'*s lip, and a sweet flower grew there. 
No wonder the great traveller was so moved by 
such a glimpse of beauty in such a place. 

[ 228 ] 



As we go through the world, we come now and 
then upon human hves which seem almost 
utterly dreary and desolate in their condition 
or in their circumstances. Sorrow or sin has 
stripped them bare. Yet there is scarcely one 
such life in which we may not, if we ^vill, cause 
a flower to bloom. If only we will show thought- 
ful sympathy, or do some gentle kindness, we 
will plant a spray of beauty amid the lava and 
ashes. 

Some of us are ready always to do good and 
helpful things for those who already have abun- 
dance of comfort and happiness in their lives, 
but we are not so ready to reach out our hand to 
those whose lives are dreary and empty. We 
should remember that the most Christ-like love 
is that which seeks to serve and help those 
whom others are likely to neglect. The divinest 
garden work we can do is to get flowers to 
bloom on the edge of craters. If you know a 
life that is dreary, that seems utterly desolate 
and alone, do what you can to get a bit of 
bloom planted in it. 

These are the lives, too, that most need om* 

[ 229 ] 



Ci^e ^vvtt Cwrtentjs 



gentle ministries. Thoughtful love discriminates, 
giving its best to those who have greatest lack. 
If we know a person for whom no other will 
probably care, to whom no one is likely to give 
attention, that is the one to whom we should 
especially show kindness. When one seems 
alone and without friends, a stranger, or shy and 
reserved in any company, if we would show the 
most Christ-like love, that is the one we should 
turn to with special interest. 
The other evening at a Commencement there 
were a number of graduates, bright, happy 
girls. Most of them had many friends, and on 
this glad occasion received many tokens of love 
— flowers and books and other presents. Among 
them, however, there was one girl from a dis- 
tant part of the country, an orphan, without 
brother or sister or any relative. Being also of 
a quiet, retiring disposition, she had not made 
many friends during her stay in the school. 
One lady connected with the institution, how- 
ever, knowing that this Southern girl would 
not likely receive many tokens of interest and 
affection, while her classmates would be well 

[ 230 ] 



remembered, quietly arranged that a number 
of friends should send flowers and other gradu- 
ation presents to her. So it came that on the 
happy occasion no girl in the class received 
more attention than she did, and thus she was 
made in a measure to forget her loneliness. 
Thoughtful love continually finds opportunity 
for such kindness, which means far more than 
when attention is shown to those who have 
many friends. 

There is a legend of Jesus which says that as 
he walked away from his grave, on the morning 
of his resurrection, sweet flowers grew in the 
path behind him. The legend is true in a spir- 
itual sense — wherever his footsteps have pressed 
the earth, all these nineteen centuries, flowers 
have sprung up — flowers of love, of kindness, 
of gentleness, of thoughtfulness. 
We represent Christ to-day, and if we fail to 
make little garden spots round about us where 
we live and where we work, we are not fulfilling 
our mission, nor obeying the teaching that we 
should be in the world what he was in the 
world, repeating his life of love among men. It 

[ 231 ] 



Ci^e 2lpper €unmt^ 



costs but a little to be a true blessing to others. 
Selfishness does no garden-making, plants no 
flowers anywhere. But if we truly love Christ 
we will have his love in our hearts. Then we 
shall live not to be ministered unto, but to 
minister, and living thus we shall be a blessing 
wherever we go. 

Travellers in the desert know afar off when 
they are approaching a well of water. They 
know it by the trees that grow about it. So, 
wherever a true friend of Christ lives, there is 
an oasis, a little spot of beauty, a place of 
fragrance. 



[ 232 ] 



Ci^e Mttnt of ^tpznnahltnm 



[ 233 ] 



'• Down through ov/r crowded walks and closer air^ 
friend^ how beautiful thy footsteps were ! 
When through the fever's heat at last they trod^ 
A form was with them like the Son of God. 
*Twas hut one step for those victorious feet 
From their day^s path unto the golden street ; 
And we who watched their walk^ so bright^ so brief 
Have marked this marble with our hope and grief" 
— Epitaph in Derry Cathedral. 



[ 234 ] 



CHAPTER TWENTIETH 




FTER all, the old-fashioned 
virtues mean the most in 
life and are of greatest value. 
Brilliance is well enough, if 
there be something solid and 
sm*e beneath it. It is in- 
teresting to listen to a fascinating talker, but 
what is it that he is saying ? And who is he 
that is speaking so charmingly ? " If I speak 
with the tongues of men and of angels, but 
have not love, I am become sounding brass, or 
a clanging cymbal.'' It is not what a man says, 
nor what he does that measures the man — it 
is what he is. Achievements may be very fine, 
but what of the man who made the achieve- 
ments ? A splendid career dazzles people's eyes. 
When a man climbs up before his neighbors^ 
sight until he stands on giddy heights, people 
are amazed. But thoughtful men, before they 
decide upon the real splendor of his ascent, 

[ 235 ] 



ci^e apper €nnmt^ 



wish to know how he got up, whether by hon- 
est chmbing or in some other way. All that 
the world praises as success must be tested by 
the question, " What of the man at the centre 
ofitaU?" 

A man who can be absolutely trusted has 
gained life'^s highest rank and won life's richest 
prize. Nothing counts for more in a man than 
the quality of dependableness. Some people 
lack it. There are some who pass for good, and 
who really are good in many ways, who yet 
continually fail those who trust them and 
depend on them. There are some who are slack 
and careless in meeting their money obliga- 
tions. It is popularly said, for example, of a 
certain man who does many generous things, 
that he cannot be depended on in the matter 
of paying his debts. He gives large amounts of 
money to benevolence. His name is never want- 
ing on subscription papers in behalf of worthy 
causes. He is active in the work of the church of 
which he is a member. He takes part in the 
weekly prayer meetings and is ready, even eager, 
to do whatsoever his hand findeth to do in relig- 

[ 236 ] 



Ci^e t^ittut of jDepenDablenejSjs 

ious service. But it is known throughout the 
community that he is very slow in meeting his 
obligations, especially in paying the monthly 
bills of the people who serve his household 
with provisions and other necessaries and lux- 
uries. It is needless to say that the man'*s good- 
ness in other ways and his generosity and his 
devoutness suffer immeasurably and hopelessly 
in the opinion of others through his disregard 
of these money obligations and his want of 
dependableness in a financial way. 
But there are other ways in which many peo- 
ple fail to be dependable. They make engage- 
ments with their friends or neighbors and do 
not keep them. The worst of it is, the break- 
ing of the engagement does not appear to 
trouble them. They do not think of it as in 
any sense a moral delinquency. They make no 
apology to those they have disappointed and 
put to inconvenience. When the matter is 
brought to their attention, they show no regret 
at the annoyance their neglect has caused. 
They think only of their own convenience, and 
if for any reason it is not suitable or agreeable 

[ 237 ] 



Ci^e (JXvptv Currents 



to them to do what they had promised to do, 
the matter troubles them no further. They 
seem to feel no sense of obligation to any one 
but themselves. 

There are a great many of these people. It is 
impossible to calculate the amount of trouble 
they cause to those who depend upon them and 
are made to suffer by their want of faithful- 
ness. Then the effect upon their own name and 
reputation is most disastrous. Any one may 
now and then find himself justifiably unable to 
do what he has promised to do. He should 
then instantly send his explanation and express 
his regret. With any reasonable person this 
will be satisfactory. But where no explanation 
is given and especially where the failure is 
repeated again and again, it soon becomes evi- 
dent that there is a flaw in the person'^s char> 
acter. He is not a man of his word. He has no 
sense of the sacredness of a promise. He is not 
dependable. 

It is no wonder that those who fail to keep 
their promises and live up to their engage- 
ments suffer in reputation. A good name can 

[ 238 ] 



Ci^e Wixtnt of ^epentiablenejsjj 

be won and kept only by continued and un- 
broken faithfulness. It does not take long for 
anyone to advertise the fact that his word can- 
not be relied on. Those who have dealings with 
him may be patient with his shortcomings for 
a little while, but they will soon grow weary 
of his failures. Then they will withdraw their 
patronage. 

There are tradesmen and business men who set 
out well, with excellent opportunities for suc- 
cess, but who, through lack of promptness and 
dependableness, blight their own prospects, and 
foredoom promising beginnings to early decay. 
A painter or a paperhanger promises to do the 
work you want on a certain day, and neither 
appears nor sends any explanation of his not 
coming. When you chide him for not keeping 
his word, he has some trivial excuse which he 
expects you to accept as sufficient reason for 
his failure. The dressmaker promises yoiu* gown 
positively by a certain day. You tell her you 
want to wear it that evening and she must not 
disappoint you. She assures you you need 
have no fear — it will certainly be delivered to 

[ 2S9 ] 



Cl^e apper €unmt^ 



you in good season. But it is not delivered, 
and when you show your vexation, she is very 
sorry, but somebody failed her and she had to 
disappoint you. She shows no real regret and 
you can only make the best of it, for your gar- 
ment is under way, and you cannot take it out 
of her hands. But you will probably not go to 
her with your next gown. 

In the end, all such treatment of others, all 
such disregard of one'^s word, will result in the 
destroying of one'^s reputation for dependable- 
ness. People are patient, but ultimately they 
will cease to patronize the man who is not 
dependable. They cannot afford to be disap- 
pointed and put to inconvenience, and com- 
pelled to suffer loss again and again, through 
any man's carelessness in keeping his engage- 
ments. 

The tradesman, the merchant, the professional 
man, the business man in any line, who keeps 
his word, is the one in whom people ultimately 
put their confidence and to whom they give 
their patronage. It is a splendid reputation, for 
example, for a store to get — that its goods 

[ 240 ] 



may be absolutely depended upon, that its ad- 
vertisements tell the truth, that its salespeople 
never misrepresent anything they are trying to 
sell, that a child or the most simple-minded 
person will be as honestly dealt with as the 
keenest-eyed purchaser who comes in. The way 
for any store to get such a reputation is always 
to be what it wants its patrons to believe it 
to be. 

But it is not only in business matters that 
dependableness is important ; it is equally im- 
portant in all personal relations. The Sermon 
on the Mount teaches us that no merely exter- 
nal or general observance of the law of God is 
enough. The commandments must be in the 
heart and must permeate the whole being, 
ruling every smallest thought, feeling, word, 
and act. At Oxford it used to be said of a 
young undergraduate, whose short life fulfilled 
its early promise, " See the man with the Ten 
Commandments in his face!"*** The same writing 
should be seen, not only in every Christian'^s 
face, but in his whole life. Good Sunday-keep- 
ing is right, but the same sacred seriousness 

[ 241 ] 



Ci^e Opper €unmt^ 



should mark our lives on the weekdays that 
follow, the same reverence for God, the same 
spirit of obedience. We should have the beauty 
of the Lord upon us in our business life and in 
all our relations with others, as well as when 
we are praying or receiving the holy commun- 
ion. There is a story of a Welsh pastor, about 
to baptize a shoemaker, and who thus addressed 
the candidate, " Take care, John, that you 
wax the threads more carefully, that you draw 
the seams more closely, and that all your work 
is done more to the glory of the Master, to 
whom you now dedicate your life.*" That is the 
way religion is to show itself in our lives if we 
are truly and fully following Christ. 

* * Not words of winning note, 
Not thoughts from life remote, 
Not fond religious airs, 
Not sweetly languid sprayers ^ 
Not lorn of sect and creeds ; 
Wanted — deeds, ' ' 

It is well that young people should train them- 
selves from the first, in all things to be abso- 
lutely dependable. Let them begin in early 

[ 242 ] 



Ci^e Mttm of ^tvtnnaUtnm 

youth to keep every engagement, however 
trivial it may seem, never to break a promise, 
though it be only for some smallest matter, 
never to exaggerate, never to misrepresent, 
never to disappoint any one's trust or confi- 
dence. A life which begins in this way and 
never deviates from the strictest faithfulness, 
will gain at last a reputation which will be 
worth more than the largest fortune. Better 
still, it will build itself up into a character 
strong and firm and true and abiding, beauti- 
ful with the beauty of God, and proof against 
temptation and all the unholy influences of the 
world. The lesson of dependableness is not 
learned, however, in a day, nor is it something 
which comes in a consecration meeting or in an 
hour of spiritual rapture — -it is the work of 
years to get it wrought into the life, and the 
place where it is learned is out in the fields of 
duty, of struggle, of temptation. "The work- 
shop of character is every-day life. The un- 
eventful and commonplace hour is where the 
battle is lost or won.'"* 

Dean Stanley says, and his words are worthy 

[ 243 ] 



Ci^e 2lppet Cuttentjj 



of being written in letters of gold : — " Give us 
a man, young or old, high or low, on whom we 
can thoroughly depend, who will stand firm 
when others fail — the friend faithful and true, 
the adviser honest and fearless, the adversary 
just and chivalrous ; in such an one there is a 
fragment of the Rock of Ages."** 



[ 244 J 



Cl^e art of ti\)im ^itl^ ptoplt 



[ 245 ] 



Herein is love — to daily sacrifice 
The thing that to the bosom closest lies^ 
To mutely bear reproach and suffer wrong^ 
Nor lift the voice to show where both belong ; 
Nay now^ nor tell it e'en to God above^ — 
Herein is love^ indeed ; herein is love. 

Susie M. Best. 



[ 246 ] 



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

Cl^e art of tmm ""Xiit^ ptoplt 




IFE'S best school is living 
with people. It is there we 
learn our best lessons. Some 
one says, " It is better to 
live with others even at the 
cost of considerable jamng 
and fiiction than to live in undistm^bed quiet 
alone." It is not ideally the easy way. It 
means ofttimes hurts, wrongs, injustices, many 
a wounding, many a heartache, many a pang. 
It requires self-forgetfulness, self-restraint, the 
giving up of one's rights many times, the over- 
looking of unkindnesses and thoughtlessnesses, 
the quiet endm'ing of things that it would seem 
no one should be required to endure from an- 
other. Nevertheless, it is immeasurably better 
to live with people, though it is not easy, than 
to live alone. 

Living alone nourishes much that is not good 
and beautiful in human nature. It promotes 

[ 247 ] 



Ci^e 2lppet €munt^ 



selfishness. It gives self-conceit an undue op- 
portunity for growth and development. It per- 
mits us to do too much as we please, which is 
bad training for any of us ; to be independent, 
to indulge our own tastes, feelings, and whims 
without limitation, without protest, since no 
one is near enough to us to be seriously affected. 
Then it deprives us of the opportunity for dis- 
cipline and education which we can get only by 
living in daily contact with others. One can 
never grow into true nobleness of character, 
sweetness of disposition, and beauty of life, 
while living in solitude. As one says, " We need 
to have our sharp corners rubbed off, our little 
pet fancies punctured, and most of all to learn 
self-control, ^ sweet reasonableness' and toler- 
ance for other people's point of view.'' 
Then we never can learn the lesson of love but 
by living with people. We may learn the theory 
of loving each other and be able to preach about 
it and write delightful essays on the subject, but 
that is different altogether from getting the 
lesson into oin- own lives. A man said to his 
pastor at the close of a year, "I have been 

[ 248 ] 



Ci^e art of litiing twtti^ people 

through the Bible five times this year." The 
pastor asked him quietly, " How often has the 
Bible been through you this year ? ""^ Only when 
the Bible goes through us is it to us what it is 
meant to be. Conning the teachings about lov- 
ing each other, getting them by heart, is one 
thing ; getting these teachings into our lives is 
quite another thing. The latter we can achieve 
only in personal contacts with others, with all 
sorts and conditions of men. Nothing will teach 
us unselfishness but the practice of unselfishness 
under pressure of necessity. We cannot learn 
patience with others save in experiences which 
put our patience to the test. The same is true 
of all the virtues and graces — they can be ac- 
quired only in practical life. Thus it is that 
in very many ways people are the best means 
of grace to us. 

It is important, then, that we learn the art of 
living with people. It should not be hard to live 
with those who are sweet, gentle, patient, 
thoughtful, and unselfish — anybody ought to be 
able to get along with such pleasant people. 
But not all with whom we mingle are of this 

[ 249 ] 



Cl^e (IXpptv €nttmt^ 



class. There are disagreeable people, those who 
are thoughtless, uncongenial, exacting, quick- 
tempered, unreasonable, sensitive, and our duty 
of living sweetly with others includes these, too. 
It may help us if we will always remember, 
when we find it hard to get along with any one, 
that this is only a new lesson in loving set for us. 
Of course it would please us if the disagreeable 
person should by some process be quietly changed 
into sweet reasonableness and Christ-like agree- 
ableness, so that there no longer should be any 
uncongeniality to fret us. But it is not proba- 
ble that any such miracle will be wrought to 
make it easier for us to get along together. 
Almost certainly the task set for us must be 
worked out without any perceptible ameliora- 
tion of conditions. The problem is ours — we 
must meet it. It is ours to be Christians, which 
means Christ-like, just where we find ourselves. 
Our Master had a great deal harder conditions 
than ours, in which to live his life, but he never 
once failed in the sweetness and patience of 
love, and he will help us to live as he did, if we 
will accept his help. 

[ 250 ] 



Ci^e att of litjtng tjjiti^ people 

There is another thing for us to remember which 
may help us. It is not unhkely that others may 
find it difficult at some points, at least, to live 
with us. It is not impossible to believe that 
there are in us serious faults, uncongenial qual- 
ities, that we have disagreeable habits. Perhaps 
those with whom we find it hard to get along 
sweetly are experiencing similar difficulty in 
adjusting themselves to us. Not many people 
are entirely perfect. Most earthly saints still 
have in them faults or idiosyncrasies. We cannot 
see our o\vn face, and we do not see ourselves 
just as other people see us. Someone has given 
this bit of advice, " When anything goes wrong, 
blame yourself. '"^ That is not the way we usually 
do, — we like to blame 'the other person. But 
it will help much in working out the problem 
we are considering, if we admit that the trou- 
ble may be at least partly with ourselves, partly 
our fault. For one thing, this will make us more 
patient with others. Then it will also make us 
more willing to try to learn the lesson set for 
us. The self-conceit that never confesses mistake 
or fault is incapable of being made better, is 
indeed hopeless. 

[251 ] 



Ci^e sippet; €mtmt^ 



The trouble with too many of us is that we are 
not willing to do this. We are not disposed to 
overlook things in others which do not fall in 
with our ideas of the way they should treat us. 
We are not willing to accord to them the rights 
which they claim, or to be lenient toward their 
uncongeniality and tolerant with their faults. 
We insist upon their coming up always to our 
requirements and doing only the things that 
please us. A little honest thought will show us 
that this is not the Christly way. Instead of in- 
sisting that others should think always of him 
and minister to his comfort, our Master put it 
the other way and sought rather to minister to 
them instead. It is worth our while to think 
this out for ourselves. 

If we would learn the lesson of living together 
we must exercise love. In one of Dr. Charles H. 
Parkhursfs little books * there is a chapter on 
love as a lubricant. The author relates this in- 
cident : One day there was a workman aboard a 
trolley car, and he noticed that every time the 
door was pushed open it squeaked. Rising from 

* The Sunny Side of Christianity. 
[ 252 ] 



Cl^e att of tiUm ^it}^ ptoplt 

his seat, he took a httle can from his pocket, 
let fall a drop of anti -irritant on the offending 
spot, and sat down again, quietly remarking, 
" I always carry an oil-can in my pocket, for 
there are so many squeaky things that a drop 
of oil will correct.*" 

The application of the incident is obvious. In 
human society there are continual contacts of 
life with life, and there cannot but be frictions 
ofttimes which will surely develop unpleasantly 
unless they are relieved in some way. Here it is 
that the oil-can comes in well. A drop or two 
of its efficacious contents will work wonders in 
even the most obstinate cases. 
There is a great deal of human nature in most 
people. This leads us to want to have our own 
way regardless of the rights and the feelings of 
others. But when two persons are trying to live 
together, and each is set on having things just 
as he wants to have them, there is sure to be 
clashing. It is then that the gentle ministry of 
the oil-can will prove beneficent in allaying 
friction and preventing unkindly or unseemly 
contacts. The ideal way in such cases is for both 

[ 253 ] 



Ci^e ^ppet Currents 



parties to be not only tolerant and patient, but 
ready to yield rather than have strife. Some- 
times, however, one of the two must do the 
larger part of the yielding, and exercise all the 
necessary tolerance and patience, if unhappy 
friction is to be avoided. Of course this is not 
just, if the law of the equities is to be followed. 
Yet it is the part of love always to be ready to 
give up its rights, even if the other person will 
not. He loves most and is most like the Master 
who takes the larger share in yielding, and does 
it sweetly and cheerfully. 

Some good people are ready to claim that there 
is a limit to our duty of giving up. But not 
many of us are in danger of going too far in 
this phase of loving. We need only to recall the 
Master'^s teaching about turning the other cheek 
and letting the relentless litigant have our cloak 
as well as the coat he demands, and then to re- 
member also the Master's own example of giv- 
ing up and submitting to wrong and injustice, 
in order to find what the law of love really 
means. St. Paul also counsels Christians as far 
as in them lies to live peaceably with all men, 

[ 254 ] , 



of course including the quarrelsome. He tells us 
too that the servant of the Lord must not 
strive, that is, must not be contentious, but 
must be gentle unto all men. Then, in that match 
less picture of love which is a New Testament 
classic, we are taught that love sufFereth long 
and is kind, doth not behave itself unseemly, 
seeketh not its own, taketh no account of evil. 
The ideal way for two to live together, however, 
implies two oil-cans — neither person disposed 
to quarrel, both willing to give up. But though 
others may not be disposed to patience and for- 
bearance, we are responsible only for ourselves, 
and we must love on and our patience must not 
fail, whatever the conditions are. There are few 
people so hard to get along with that we cannot 
live peaceably with them, if only our own heart 
is full of patient love. 

One of our Lord's beatitudes is, " Blessed are 
the peacemakers.''' This applies not only in our 
personal relations, but also in our influence 
upon those about us. We see a man now and 
then who, without being officious or a meddler 
in other people's affairs, is always dropping oil 

[ 255 ] 



Ci^e 2Jpper Curtentjs 



in most timely fashion on "squeaky things.*" 
When he meets a friend who is excited, he says 
a gentle word which acts like a charm in quiet- 
ing him. When one complains to him of a 
slight or an injury received, he allays the hurt 
feeling by suggesting the Christly way of look- 
ing at it. Wherever he goes he is a peacemaker. 
He carries in his own life an influence which 
makes men ashamed of unlovingness and in- 
spires them with the desire to live sweetly and 
in patient love. 



[ 256 ] 



CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND 

^^f e »6et]^ mt to jdte J^oton" 



JETcrc aTzc? here alone 
Is given thee to suffer for God's sake. 
In the other world we shall more perfectly 
Serve him and love him^ praise him^ work for him^ 
Grow near and nearer him with all delight ; 
But then we shall not any more be called 
To suffer^ which is ow appointment here. 
Canst thou not suffer^ then^ one hou/r, or two f 

H. E. H. Kma. 




IFE is not all activity, work, 
service. Sometimes oiu* first 
and highest duty is to rest. 
We are not to be forever 
pressing on, although the 
way is long and the sun is 
sinking toward the west. Sometimes we must 
stop and lie down awhile. We do not care 
to lie down. We would rather keep on our 
way. We are loath to tarry. We think we 
would be losing time if we turned aside into 
the shade of a great tree and rested an hour. 

[ 257 ] 



m)t oppet Currents 



It seems to us that every minute that is not 
filled with activities is a minute wasted. We 
have not learned that we may serve by stand- 
ing and waiting, and that at times we make 
greater advances by lying down than we could 
have done by pressing on. So we too often 
chafe when we are not permitted to hasten 
forward. 

Then the Shepherd makes us lie down. It ought 
to be quite reason enough to silence all demur- 
ring and all question, and to make us alto- 
gether acquiescent, that it is our Good Shep- 
herd who bids us lie down to rest awhile. He 
knows what is best. He never wishes us to 
waste time or to be loiterers. We may trust 
his goodness and wisdom, whatever he would 
have us do. If rushing on were our duty for the 
hour, he would not call us to rest. 
Henry Prummond says, " To be willing, is a 
rarer grace than to be doing the will of God. 
For he who is willing may sometimes have 
nothing to do, and must only be willing to 
wait ; and it is easier far to be doing God's 
will than to be willing to have nothing to do ; 

[ 258 ] 



^^ 



f e ^^afeetl^ ^t to lie J^oton 



>t 



it is easier far to be working for Christ than it 
is to be wiUing to cease working. There is 
nothing rarer in the world to-day than the 
truly willing soul, and there is nothing more 
worth coveting than the will to do God''s 
will;' 

We need not trouble ourselves, therefore, to 
seek to know why the Good Shepherd wants us 
to lie down. His will should satisfy us, and we 
need not give a moment's thought beyond that 
to find out why. Yet we can think of reasons. 
We may need rest, even though we do not 
think we do. We are swept on by our earnest- 
ness and our enthusiasm, aiid when we are not 
aware of it our strength is gone. The best 
thing we can do then- is to stop to rest until 
our exhausted energies are renewed. 
God has mercifully provided resting places 
along the way. What would we do if there 
were no nights set in like quiet valleys between 
our busy days ? The Sabbaths, too, tell of the 
divine gentleness toward us in ordering a day 
of rest after six days of toil. Those who decline 
and miss this Sabbath mercy of God, do not 

[ 259 ] 



Ci^e ©ppet Curt^entiEi 



know how they are robbing their own lives of 
blessing and good. Were it not for the rests 
provided along the way we never could hold 
out to the end. 

Sometimes also the Good Shepherd makes us 
lie down that he may feed and nourish us. 
Once the Master said to his disciples, " Come 
ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and 
rest a while,'' and the reason given was that 
there were many coming and going, and they 
had no leisure so much as to eat. No doubt 
many earnest Christian people need now and 
then to be made to lie down in order that they 
may find leisure to eat. This is true ofttimes in 
a physical sense. There are men who are so 
driven by the pressure of business that they 
fail to find time to provide for their bodily 
wants. At length nature exacts the penalty and 
those who might have lived on for many years, 
if they had learned the secret of conserving 
their strength, are laid aside in the midst of 
their years and their usefulness. It is needful 
for our bodily health that we lie down at 
proper times. 

[ 260 ] 



*^f e ^afeeti^ 0^e to tit ^oyx>n" 

Then the same is true in spiritual hfe. Some 
of us think that we would sin if we were to 
rest even a few hours in our busy weeks. We 
have so cultivated our feeling of responsibility 
for the helping of others that it seems to us we 
should never rest even for a moment because on 
every hand human need and sorrow beckon and 
wait. But we forget that we must take time to 
feed ourselves and to keep ourselves strong, if 
we would continue to help others. We forget 
that we need to receive before we can give, to 
be blessed before we can be a blessing, to be 
taught before we can teach. The busy day 
that does not get its quiet time with the Mas- 
ter has been a lost day. 

* * Have you and I to-day 
Stood silent as with Christ, apart from Joy, or fray 
Of life, to see his face ; 
To look, if hut a moment, on its grace. 
And grow by brief companionship^ more true, 
More nerved to lead, to dare, to do 
For him at any cost f Have we to-day 
Found time, in thought, our hand to lay 
In his, and thus compare 
His will with ours, and wear 

[ 261 ] 



Ci^e CXpptt €mtmt^ 



The impress of his wish f Be sure 

Sttch contact will endure 

Throughout the day ; will help us walk erect 

Through storm and flood ; detect 

Within the hidden life sin^s dross, its stain ; 

Revive a thought of love for him again ; 

Steady the steps which waver ; help us see 

The footpath meant for you, and me, ' ' 

Whenever the Good Shepherd makes us lie 
down we may know it is in order that he may 
give us some new blessing. This is true, for 
example, when he leads us into a sick-room and 
draws the curtains upon us. He does not in- 
tend the days or weeks we spend there to be 
wasted. The work we do on our worldly affairs 
is not by any means the only work of life, or 
the most important. We are not here merely 
to plow and sow and reap, to build houses or 
bridges, to keep books or set types, to navigate 
ships or to make money. These occupations are 
right enough, and we should be diligent in our 
calling, whatever it is. But we are here to grow 
into men and women, to be fashioned into the 
likeness of Christ, to learn to do the will of 
God. When we are called away from our 

[ 262 ] 



''m ^afeetl^ 0pe to tit J^oton" 

common occupation for a longer or a shorter 
time, it is doubtless because there is something 
that needs to be done in us, something that is 
more important than the pieces of work out- 
side, which we would do if we were to continue 
uninterruptedly at our tasks. 
If we would remember this always when we are 
made to lie down, it would help us to be patient 
and joyously obedient. There is a blessing wait- 
ing for us in the quiet room into which we are 
led. There is a lesson set for us which we are 
now to learn. As a song bird is shut up in a 
dark place to learn a new song which it could 
not have learned in the light, so in our with- 
drawal into the shadow we are to be taught 
some new sweet song in the night which we 
may sing ever after in the ears of sad and 
weary ones. And no price is too great to pay 
for the privilege of learning to sing even a 
single note which will bless the world. No sor- 
row is too great to endure if it reveals to us 
some new beauty in Christ or brings out in us 
some new feature of Christ-likeness. 
Or it may be to get to know our Master better 

[ 263 ] 



Ci^e appet €unmt^ 



that we are called away for a time from our 
rushing life. A good man who had been at 
home for several weeks sick said that he was 
compensated by the opportunity he had had of 
getting acquainted with his wife and children. 
This is rich compensation, indeed, for love is 
better than money. Best of all friends is Jesus 
Christ, and it is worth our while to drop all 
our tasks for a time to get into closer, sweeter, 
more intimate friendship with him. 
It would be well for us if we were to cultivate 
more diligently the quiet, restful spirit. Peace is 
one of the great key-words of the Christian life, 
and peace means restfulness, reposefulness, the 
absence of all care and anxiety, and self-mastery 
which restrains all inordinate ambition. The 
man who has not learned to be quiet and to rest 
without fretting and chafing, has not yet found 
the secret of peace. There are many who are never 
happy unless they are in the whirl of business or 
of gayety, or of the world's strife. Far more real- 
ly happy is he who has learned to sit down amid 
the beauties of nature and find enjoyment in 
flowers and bird-songs. John Vance Cheney says, 

[ 264 ] 



(€ 



i^e ^am\) ^t to lie motjon" 



I would rather he 

In the shade of a tree, 

With a song and a handful of daisies. 

Than be the darling of victory, 

'Mid the bray of the rabble' s praises, 

I would rather ride 

On the wings inside, 

Whither hoofs and horns come not after , 

Than take to me Fame for a bride^ 

Rouged Fame, with her leer and her laughter. 

We should not overlook the fact that the place 
in which the Good Shepherd makes us lie down 
is in green pastures. It is not on the dusty 
roadway, nor in the bleak desert, nor on the 
cold mountain-top, but where there is abundance 
of provision. Anywhere is a bit of God's green 
pasture to one who loves Christ and is called to 
suffer or to wait apart. It may be a sick-room, 
or a little white cot in a hospital, or some lonely 
place to which human love does not find the 
way — if our eyes are opened we shall see the 
gi*eenness and the beauty all about us, wherever 
it is. 

Life would come to mean a great deal more to 
us if we would learn to take it more leisurely. 

[ ^^^ ] 



C^e apper Cutrentjs 



We are under such pressure all the time that 
we do all our work in a feverish way, that we 
are never quiet and still even for an hour. We 
make such a clatter in our rushing haste that 
we cannot hear the voice of gentle stillness in 
which God speaks to us. We hurry so that we 
find no time to think, to meditate, to get ac- 
quainted with our Master, to allow the sweet 
influences of the divine love to steal into our 
hearts. The secret of John^s wonderful trans- 
formation was his lying on the bosom of Jesus, 
but we have no time these crowded days for 
lying down even in such a holy and sacred 
place. If only we would take time for commun- 
ing with good people, for friendship with Christ, 
for thought, for looking into the face of God, 
it would change everything for us. 

^' If I had the time to find a place 
And sit me down full face to face 

With my better self that stands no show 
In my daily life that rushes so ; 
It might be then I would see my soul 
Was stumbling still toward the shining goal ; 
I might be nerved by the thought sublime ; 
If I had the time ! " 

[ ^m ] 



OCT 6 1902 



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